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Transcription of the printed text and annotations created from digital images of the Huntington Library copy of the 1637 quarto.Surrogate available.Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616.HamletThe tragedy of Hamlet Prince of DenmarkS1110990061825851009045Huntington 69309Huntington LibraryThis post-1700 hand wrote numbers and an annotation on a preliminary flyleaf and numbers on an endleaf.This post-1700 hand wrote a shelf mark and erasures on a preliminary flyleaf .This post-1700 hand wrote annotations on the left top margin of an endleaf.This post-1700 hand wrote apparent cataloging information on the left bottom margin of an endleaf.

Title tooled in gilt on spine which reads: “THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET LONDON 1637”

THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLETPRINCE OF DENMARK.Newly imprinted and inlarged, according to the true and perfect Copy last Printed.ByWILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.Printer's mark depicting a bird and the motto “NON ALTVM PETO IS”.LONDON, Printed by R. Young for John Smethwicke, and are to be sold at his Shop in Saint Dunstans Church‐yard in Fleet‐stteet, under the Diall. 1637.
THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLETPRINCE OF DENMARK.
EnterBarnardoandFrancisco, two Sentinels.BAr.Who's there?Fran.Nay answer me, stand and unfold your selfe.Bar.Long live the King.Fran.Barnardo?Bar.Hee.Fran.You come most carefully upon your houre.Bar.'Tis now strooke twelve: get thee to bed Francisco.Fran.For this reliefe much thanks, 'tis bitter cold,And I am sicke at heart.Bar.Have you had quiet guard?Fran.Not a mouse stirring.Bar.Well, goodnight:If you doe meet Horatio and Marcellus,The rivalls of my watch, bid them make haste.Enter Horatio and Marcellus.Fran.I thinke I heare them. Stand ho: who is there?Hora.Friends to this ground.Mar.And Liegemen to the Dane.A2Fran.The Tragedy of HamletFran.Give yo good night.Mar.O farewell honest souldiers: who hath relieved you?Fra.Bernardo hath my place: give you good night.Exit Fran.Mar.Holla Barnardo.Bar.Say, what is Horatio there?Hora.A peece of him.Bar.Welcome Horatio, welcome good Marcellus.Hora.What, ha's this thing appear'd againe to night?Bar.I have seene nothing.Mar.Horatio sayes 'tis but a phantasie,And will not let beliefe take hold of him,Touching this dreaded sight twice seene of us;Therefore I have entreated him along,With us to watch the minutes of this night,That if againe this apparition come,He may approve our eyes and speake to it.Hora.Tush, tush, 'twill not appeare.Bar.Sit downe a while,And let us once againe assaile your earesThat are so fortified against our story,What we have two nights seene.Hora.Well, sit we downe,And let us heare Barnardo speake of this.Bar.Last night of all,When yond same star that's Westward from the Pole,Had made his course t'illumine that part of heavenWhere now it burnes, Marcellus and my selfe,The Bell then beating one.Enter Ghost.Mar.Peace, breake thee off, looke where it comes againe.Bar.In the same figure, like the King that's dead.Mar.Thou art a Scholar, speake to it Horatio.Hor.Most like, it horrowes me with feare and wonder.Bar.It would be spoke to.Mar.Speake to it Horatio.Hora.What art thou that usurpst this time of night,Together with that faire and warlike forme,In which the Majesty of buried DenmarkeDidPrince of Denmarke.Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee speake.Mar.It is offended.Bar.See it stalkes away.Hor.Stay, speake, speake, I charge thee speake.Exit Ghost.Mar.'Tis gone and will not answer.Bar.How now Horatio? you tremble and looke pale:Is not this something more than phantasie?What thinke you of it?Hora.Before my God I might not this beleeve,Without the sensible and true avouchOf mine owne eyes.Mar.Is it not like the King?Hor.As thou art to thy selfe:Such was the very armour he had on,When he th' ambitious Norway combated.So frown'd he once, when in an angry ParleHe smote the sleaded Pollax on the ice. 'Tis strange.Mar.Thus twice before, and jumpe at this same houre,With martiall stalke hath he gone by our watch.Hora.In what particular thought to worke I know not,But in the grosse and scope of mine opinion,This bodes some strange eruption to our State.Mar.Good now sit downe, and tell me he that knowes,Why this same strict and most observant watchSo nightly toiles the subject of the land,And with such daily cost of brasen Cannon,And forraine Mart for implements of warre?Why such impresse of ship‐wrights, whose sore taskeDoes not divide the Sunday from the weeke?What might be toward, that this sweaty hasteDoth make the night joint labour with the day?Who is't that can informe me?Hora.That can I:At least the whisper goes so. Our last King,Whose image even but now appear'd to us,Was, as you know, by Fortinbrasse of Norway,TheretoThe Tragedy of HamletThereto prickt on by a most emulate pride,Dar'd to the combate; in which our valiant Hamlet,(For so this side of our knowne world esteem'd him)Did slay this Fortinbrasse, who by a seal'd compact,Well ratified by Law and Heraldry,Did forfeit (with his life) all these his landsWhich he stood seiz'd of, to the Conquerour:Against the which a moity competentVVas gaged by our King, which had returneTo the inheritance of Fortinbrasse,Had he bin vanquisht; as by the same co‐mart,And carriage of the Articles designe,His fell to Hamlet: now sir, young Fortinbrasse,Of unimproved metall, hot, and full,Hath in the skirts of Norway here and thereSharkt up a list of lawlesse resolutes,For food and diet to some enterpriseThat hath a stomacke in't, which no otherAs it doth well appeare unto our state,But to recover of us by strong handAnd tearmes compulsatory, those foresaid landsSo by his father lost: and this I take itIs the maine motive of our preparations,The source of this our watch, and the chiefe headOf this poste haste, and romeage in the land.Bar.I thinke it be no other but even so:VVell may it sort that this portentous figureComes armed through our watch so like the KingThat was and is the question of these warres.Hora.A mote it is to trouble the mindes eye.In the most high and palmy state of Rome,A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,The graves stood tenantlesse, and the sheeted deadDid squeake and gibber in the Roman streets,As starres with traines of fire, and dewes of blood,Disasters in the sunne, and the moist starre,Upon whose influence Neptunes Empire stands,VVas sicke almost to Doomesday with eclipse,AndPrince of Denmarke.And even the like precurse of fierce events,As harbingers preceding still the fatesAnd Prologue to the Omen comming on,Have heaven and earth together demontratedUnto our Climatures and Countrimen.Enter Ghost.But soft, behold! lo where it comes againe,Ile crosse it though it blast me: Stay illusion,It spreads his armes.If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,Speake to me: if there be any good thing to be done,That may to thee doe ease, and grace to me,Speake to me.If thou art privie to thy Countries fate,Which happely foreknowing may avoid,O speake:Or if thou hast uphoorded in thy lifeExtorted treasure in the wombe of earth,For which they say your spirits oft walke in death,The cocke crowes.Speake of it, stay and speake; stop it Marcellus.Mar.Shall I strike it with my partisan?Hor.Doe if it will not stand.Bar.'Tis here.Hor.'Tis here.Mar.'Tis gone.We doe it wrong, being so Majesticall,To offer it the shew of violence:For it is as the aire, invulnerable,And our vaine blowes malicious mockery.Bar.It was about to speake when the cocke crew.Hor.And then it started, like a guilty thingUpon a fearefull summons: I have heard,The cocke, that is the trumpet to the morne,Doth with his lofty and shrill sounding throatAwake the God of day; and at his warning,Whether in sea or fire, in earth or aire,Th'extravagant and erring spirit hyesTo his confine; and of the truth hereinThis present object made probationMar.The Tragedy of HamletMar.It faded on the crowing of the cocke.Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes,Wherein our Saviours birth is celebrated,This bird of dawning singeth all night long,And then they say no spirit dares stirre abroad,The nights are wholsome; then no Planets strike,No Fairy takes, no witch hath power to charme;So hallowed and so gracious is that time.Hor.So have I heard, and doe in part beleeve it:But looke, the morne in russet mantle cladWalkes ore the dew of yon high Eastward hill:Breake we our watch up, and by my adviceLet us impart what we have seene to nightUnto young Hamlet; for upon my lifeThis spirit dumbe to us will speake to him.Doe you consent we shall acquaint him with it,As needfull in our loves, fitting our duty?Mar.Let's doo't I pray; and I this morning knowWhere we shall finde him most convenient.Exeunt.Flourish. Enter Claudius King of Denmarke, Gertrad the Queene, Councell, as Polonius, and his sonne Laer­ tes, Hamlet, cum aliis.Claud.Though yet of Hamlet our deere brothers deathThe memory be greene, and that it us befittedTo beare our hearts in griefe, and our whole KingdomeTo be contracted in one brow of woe:Yet so farre hath discretion fought with nature,That we with wisest sorrow thinke on him,Together with remembrance of our selves:Therefore our sometime Sister, now our Queene,Th' Imperiall jointresse to this warlike State,Have we as 'twere with a defeated joy,With an auspicious and a dropping eye,With mirth in funerall, and with dirge in marriage,Inequall scale weighing delight and dole,Taken to wife, nor have we herein barr'dYourPrince of Denmarke.Your better wisdomes, which have freely goneWith this affaire along (for all our thankes)Now followes, that you know young Fortinbrasse,Holding a weake supposall of our worth,Or thinking by our late deare brothers deathOur state to be dis‐joint, and out of frame,Colleagued with this dreame of his advantage,He hath not faild to pester us with message,Importing the surrender of those landsLost by his father, with all bands of Law,To our most valiant brother. So much for him.Now for our selfe, and for this time of meeting,Thus much the businesse is, We have here writTo Norway, Uncle of young Fortinbrasse,Who impotent and bedrid, scarcely hearesOf this his Nephewes purpose, to suppresseHis further gate herein, in that the levies,The lists, and full proportions are all madeOut of his subjects: and we here dispatchYou good Cornelius, and you Voltemand,For bearers of this greeting to old Norway,Giving to you no further personall powerTo businesse with the King, more than the scopeOf these delated Articles allow.Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty.Cor. Vo.In that, & all things will we shew our duty.King.We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.And now Laertes, what's the newes with you?You told us of some suit, what is't Laertes?You cannot speake of reason to the Dane,And lose your voice: what wouldst thou beg Laertes?That shall not be my offer, not thy asking.The head is not more native to the heart,The hand more instrumentall to the mouth,Than is the throne of Denmarke to thy Father:What wouldst thou have Laertes?Laer.My dread Lord,Your leave and favour to returne to France,BFromThe Tragedy of HamletFrom whence though willingly I came to Denmarke,To shew my duty in your Coronation;Yet now I must confesse, that duty done,My thoughts and wishes bend againe toward France,And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.King.Have you your fathers leave? what sayes Polonius?Polo.He hath, my Lord, wrung from me my slow leave,By laboursome petition; and at last,Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent.I doe beseech you give him leave to goe.King.Take thy faire houre Laertes, time be thine,And thy best graces; spend it at thy will.But now my cousin Hamlet, and my sonne.Ham.A little more than kin, and lesse than kind.King.How is it that the clouds still hang on you?Ham.Not so much my Lord, I am too much in the sonne.Queen.Good Hamlet cast thy nighted colour off,And let thine eye looke like a friend on Denmarke.Doe not for ever with thy vailed lidsSeeke for thy noble father in the dust:Thou know'st 'tis common all that lives must dye,Passing through nature to eternity.Ham.I Madam, it is common.Queen.If it be,Why seemes it so particular with thee?Ham.Seems Madam, nay it is, I know not seems,'Tis not alone my inkie cloke could smother,Nor customary sutes of solemne blacke,Nor windie suspiration of forc't breath,No, nor the fruitfull river in the eye,Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,Together with all formes, moods, shapes of griefe,That can denote me truely; these indeed seeme,For they are actions that a man might play:But I have that within which passes shew,These but the trappings and the suits of woe.King.'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature Hamlet,To give these mourning duties to your father.ButPrince of Denmarke.But you must know your father lot a father;That father lost, lost his, and the surviver boundIn filliall obligation for some tearmeTo doe obsequious sorrowes; but to persevereIn obstinate condolement, is a courseOf impious stubbornnesse, 'tis unmanly griefeIt shewes a will most incorrect to Heaven,A heart unfortified, or minde impatient,An undertanding simple and unschool'd:For what we know must be, and is as commonAs any the most vulgar thing to sense,Why should we in our peevish oppositionTake it to heart? fie, 'tis a fault to heaven,A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,To reason most absurd, whose common theameIs death of fathers, and who still hath cryedFrom the first coarse till he that died to day,This must be so: we pray you throw to earthThis unprevailing woe, and thinke of usAs of a father: for let the world take noteYou are the most immediate to our throne,And with no lesse nobility of loveThan that which dearest father beares his sonnDoe I impart toward you for your intentIn going backe to schoole to Wittenberg;It is most retrograde to our desire,And we beseech you bend you to remaineHere in the cheare and comfort of our eye,Our chiefest Courtier, cousin, and our sonne.Que.Let not thy mother lose her prayers Hamlet:I pray thee stay with us, goe not to Wittenberg.Ham.I shall in all my best obey you Madame.King.Why 'tis a loving and a faire reply.Be as our selfe in Denmarke. Madame come,This gentle and unforc'd accord of HamletSits smiling to my heart, in grace whereof,No jocond health that Denmarke drinkes to dayBut the great Cannon to the clouds shall tell,B2AndThe Tragedy of HamletAnd the Kings rowse the heaven shall bruit againe,Respeaking earthly thunder: Come away.Flourish, Exeunt all but Hamlet.Ham.O that this too too sallied flesh would melt,Thaw and resolve it selfe into a dew,Or that the everlasting had not fixtHis Cannon 'gainst selfe slaughter! O God, God,How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitableSeeme to me all the uses of this World?Fie on't, ah fie, 'tis an unweeded Garden,That growes to seed; things rank & grosse in naturePossesse it meerly: that it should come thus,But two moneths dead, nay not so much, not two,So excellent a King, that was to thisHyperion to a Satyre, so loving to my mother,That he might not beteeme the windes of heavenVisit her face too roughly: heaven and earthMust I remember, why she should hang on him,As if increase of appetite had growneBy what it fed on; and yet within a moneth,Let me not thinke on't, frailty thy name is woman,A little moneth: Or ere those shooes were old,With which she followed my poore fathers body,Like Niobe all teares, why she,O God! a beast that wants discourse of reasonWould have mourn'd longer, married with my uncle,My fathers brother, but no more like my fatherThan I to Hercules; within a moneth,Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tearesHad left the flushing in her galled eyes,She married. Oh most wicked speed, to postWith such dexterity to incestuous sheets;It is not, nor it cannot come to good.But breake my heart, for I must hold my tongue.Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Barnardo.Hora.Haile to your Lordship.Ham.I am glad to see you well; Horatio, or I doe forget my (selfe.Hora.The same my Lord, and your poore servant ever.Ham.Sir my good friend, Ile change that name with you;AndPrince of Denmarke.And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?Marcellus.Mar.My good Lord.Ham.I am very glad to see you (good even sir.)But what in faith make you from Wittenberg?Hora.A truant disposition, good my Lord.Ham.I would not heare your enemy say so,Nor shall you doe my eare that violenceTo make it truster of your owne reportAgainst your selfe; I know you are no truant;But what is your affaire in Elsenour?Wee'll teach you for to drinke ere you depart.Hora.My Lord, I came to see your fathers funerall.Ham.I prethee doe not mocke me fellow student,I thinke it was to my mothers wedding.Hor.Indeed my Lord it follow'd hard upon.Ham.Thrift, thrift, Horatio, the funerall bak't meatsDid coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.Would I had met my dearest foe in heavenOr ever I had seene that day Horatio.My father, me thinkes I see my father.Hora.Where my Lord?Ham.In my mindes eye Horatio.Hora.I saw him once, a was a goodly King.Ham.A was a man, take him for all in all,I shall not looke upon his like againe.Hora.My Lord, I thinke I saw him yesternight.Ham.Saw who?Hora.My Lord, the King your Father.Ham.The King my father!Hora.Season your admiration for a whileWith an attentive eare, till I may deliverUpon the witnesse of these GentlemenThis marvaile to you.Ham.For Gods love let me heare.Hora.Two nights together had these Gentlemen,Marcellus and Barnardo, on their watch,In the dead vast and middle of the nightB3BeenThe Tragedy of HamletBeen thus encountred: a figure like your father,Armed at point, exactly, Cap ape,Appeares before them, and with solemne marchGoes slow and stately by them: thrice he walktBy their opprest and feare surprised eyesWithin this truncheons length, whilst they distill'dAlmost to gelly with the act of feare,Stand dumbe and speake not to him: this to meIn dreadfull secrecie impart they did,And I with them the third night kept the watch,Where, as they had delivered, both in time,Forme of the thing, each word made true and good,The apparition comes: I knew your father,These hands are not more like.Ham.But where was this?Mar.My Lord upon the platform where we watcht.Ham.Did you not speake to it?Hor.My Lord, I did,But answer it made none: yet once me thoughtIt lifted up its head, and did addresseIt selfe to motion, like as it would speake;But even then the morning Cocke crew loud,And at the sound it shrunke in haste away,And vanisht from our sight.Ham.'Tis very strange.Hor.As I doe live, my honour'd Lord, 'tis true,And we did thinke it writ downe in our dutyTo let you know of it.Ham.Indeed sirs but this troubles me,Hold you the watch to night?All.We doe my Lord.Ham.Arm'd say you?All.Arm'd my Lord.Ham.From top to toe?All.My Lord, from head to foot.Ham.Then saw you not his face?Hora.O yes my Lord, he wore his beaver up.Ham.What? lookt he frowningly?Hor.Prince of Denmarke.Hor.A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.Ham.Pale or red?Hor.Nay very pale.Ham.And fixt his eyes upon you?Hor.Most constantly.Ham.I would I had been there.Hor.It would have much amaz'd you.Ham.Very like: staid it long?Hor.While one with moderate haste might tell an hundred.Both.Longer, longer.Hor.Not when I saw't.Ham.His beard was grissled, no.Hor.It was as I have seene it in his life,A sable silver'd.Ham.I will watch to night,Perchance 'twill walke againe.Hor.I warn't it will.Ham.If it assume my noble fathers personIle speake to it, though hell it selfe should gapeAnd bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,Let it be tenable in your silence still,And whatsoever else shall hap to night,Give it an understanding, but no tongue;I will requite your loves: So fare you well,Upon the platforme 'twixt eleven and twelveIle visit you.All.Our duty to your honour.Exeunt.Ham.Your loves, as mine to you; Farewell.My fathers spirit in armes, all is not well,I doubt some foule play, would the night were come:Till then sit still my soule, foule deeds will rise,Though all the earth orewhelme them to mens eyes.Exit.Enter Laertes, and Ophelia his Sister.Laer.My necessaries are imbarkt, farewell,And sister, as the windes give benefitAnd convay in assistant, doe not sleep,But let me heare from you.Ophel.The Tragedy of HamletOphel.Doe you doubt that?Laer.For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood,A violet in the youth of prime nature,Forward, not permanent; sweet, not lasting,The perfume and suppliance of a minute:No more.Ophel.No more but so.Laer.Thinke it no more.For nature cressant does not grow alone,In thewes and bulkes, but as this Temple waxes,The inward service of the mind and souleGrowes wide withall: perhaps he loves you now,And now no soile nor cautell doth besmerchThe vertue of his will; but you must feareHis greatnesse wai'd, his will is not his owne.He may not, as unvalued persons doe,Crave for himselfe; for on his choice dependsThe safety and health of this whole ftate,And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'dUnto the voice and yeelding of that bodyWhereof he is the head: then if he saies he loves you,It fits your wisdome so far to beleeve it,As he in his particular act and placeMay give his saying deed; which is no furtherThan the maine voice of Denmarke goes withall.Then weigh what lose your honour may sustaine,If with too credent eare you list his songs,Or loose your heart, or your chaste treasure openTo his unmastred importunitie.Feare it Ophelia, feare it my deare sister,And keep you in the reare of your affection,Out of the shot and danger of desire:“The chariest maid is prodigall enough,If she unmaske her beauty to the Moone:“Vertue it selfe scapes not calumnious strokes;“The canker galls the infant of the SpringToo oft before their buttons be disclos'd,AndPrince of Denmarke.And in the morne and liquid dew of youthContagious blastments are most imminent.Be warie then, best safety lyes in feare,Youth to it selfe rebells though none else neere.Ophel.I shall the effect of this good lesson keepAs watchmen to my heart: But good my brotherDoe not as some ungracious Pastors doe,Shew me the steep and thorny way of heaven,Whiles a puft and rechlesse Libertine,Himselfe the primrose path of dalliance treads,And reakes not his owne reed.Enter Polonius.Laer.O feare me not;I stay too long: but here my father comes.A double blessing is a double grace,Occasion smiles upon a second leave.Polo.Yet here Laertes? aboord, aboord for shame,The winde sits in the shoulder of your saile,And you are staid for. There, my blessing with thee,And these few precepts in thy memoryLook thou character: Give thy thoughts no tongue,Nor any unproportion'd thought his act:Be thou familiar, but by no meanes vulgar:Those friends thou hast and their adoption tried,Grapple them unto thy soule with hoops of steele,But doe not dull thy palme with entertainmentOf each new hatcht, unfledg'd courage: bewareOf entrance to a quarrell, but being in,Bear't that th'opposer may beware of thee:Give every man thy eare, but few thy voice;Take each mans censure, but reserve thy judgement:Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,But not exprest in fancy; rich, not gaudy;For the apparell oft proclaimes the man,And they in France of the best ranke and station,Are of a most select and generous, chiefe in that:Neither a borrower nor a lender boy,For love oft loses both it selfe and friend,And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.CThisThe Tragedy of HamletThis above all, to thine owne selfe be true,And it must follow as the night to day,Thou canst not then be false to any man.Farewell, my blessing season this in thee.Laer.Most humbly doe I take my leave my Lord.Pol.The time invests you, goe, your servants tend.Laer.Farewell Ophelia, and remember wellWhat I have said to you.Ophel.'Tis in my memory lockt,And you your selfe shall keep the key of it.Laer.Farewell.Exit Laertes.Pol.What is't Ophelia he hath said to you?Ophel.So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.Pol.Marrie well bethought.'Tis told me he hath very oft of lateGiven private time to you: and you your selfeHave of your audience beene most free and bounteous.If it be so, as so 'tis put on me,And that in way of caution, I must tell youYou doe not understand your selfe so cleerlyAs it behoves my daughter, and your honour:What is between you? give me up the truth.Ophel.He hath my Lord of late made many tendersOf his affection to me.Pol.Affection! puh, you speake like a gteene girle,Unsifted in such perillous circumstance:Doe you beleeve his tenders, as you call them?Ophel.I doe not know, my Lord, what I should thinke.Pol.Marry I will teach you, think your selfe a babie,That you have ta'n these tenders for true pay,Which are not sterling: tender your selfe more dearly,Or (not to cracke the winde of the poore phrase)Wrong it thus, you'll tender me a foole.Ophel.My Lord, he hath importun'd me with loveIn honourable fashion.Pol.I, fashion you may call it, goe too, goe too.Ophel.And hath given countenance to his speech,My Lord with almost all the holy vowes of heaven.Pol.Prince of Denmarke.Pol.I, springes to catch Wood‐cockes; I do knowWhen the blood burnes how prodigall the souleLends the tongue vowes, these blazes daughterGiving more light than heat; extinct in bothEven in their promise, as it is a making,You must not tak't for fire: from this timeBe something scanter of your maiden presence,Set your entreatments at a higher rateThan a command to parley; for Lord Hamlet,Beleeve so much in him, that he is young,And with a larger tedder may he walkeThan may be given you: in few Ophelia,Doe not beleeve his vowes, for they are Brokers,Not of that dye which their investments shew,But meere implorators of unholy suits,Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds,The better to beguile: this is for all,I would not, in plaine termes, from this time forthHave you so slander any moments leisure,As to give words or talke with the Lord Hamlet,Looke too't I charge you, come your wayes.Ophel.I shall obey my Lord.Exeunt.Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.Ham.The aire bites shrewdly, it is very cold.Hora.It is nipping, and an eager aire.Ham.What houre now?Hora.I thinke it lacks of twelve.Mar.No, it is strooke.Hora.Indeed, I heard it not: it then drawes neere the seasonWherein the spirit held his wont to walk.A flourish of Trum­ pets, and two pieces goe off.What does this meane my Lord?Ham.The King doth walke to night, and takes his rowse,Keepes wassell, and the swaggering up‐spring reeles,And as he draines his draughts of Rhenish downe,The Kettle Drum and Trumpet thus bray outThe triumph of his pledge.Hora.Is it a custome?Ham.I marry is't,C2ButThe Tragedy of HamletBut to my minde, though I am native hereAnd to the manner borne, it is a customeMore honour'd in the breach than the observance:This heavie‐headed revell East and WestMakes us traduc'd and taxed of other Nations;They clepe us Drunkards, and with swinish phraseSoile our addition: and indeed it takesFrom our atchievements, though perform'd at height,The pith and marrow of our attribute:So oft it chances in particular men,That for some vicious mole of nature in them,As in their birth, wherein they are not guilty,(Since nature cannot choose his origen)By their ore‐growth of some complexion,Oft breaking downe the pales and forts of reason;Or by some habit that too much ore‐leavensThe forme of plausive manners, that these menCarrying I say the stampe of one defect,Being Natures livery, or Fortunes starre,His vertues else be they as pure as grace,As infinite as man may undergoe,Shall in the generall censure take corruptionFrom that particular fault: the dram of easeDoth all the noble substance of a doubtTo his owne scandall.Enter Ghost.Hor.Looke my Lord, it comes.Ham.Angels and Ministers of grace defend us!Be thou a spirit of health, or Goblin damn'd,Bring with thee aires from heaven, or blasts from hel,Be thy intents wicked or charitable,Thou com'st in such a questionable shapeThat I will speake to thee; Ile call thee Hamlet,King, Father, royall Dane: O answere me,Let me not burst in ignorance, but tellWhy thy canoniz'd bones hearsed in deathHave burst their cerements: why the Sepulcher,Wherein we aw thee quietly interr'd,Hath op't his ponderous and marble jawes,ToPrince of Denmarke.To cast thee up againe: what may this meaneThat thou dead coarse againe in complete steeleRevisites thus the glimpses of the moone,Making night hideous, and we fooles of natureSo horridly to shake our dispositionWith thoughts beyond the reaches of our soules?Say why is this? wherefore? what should we doe?Beckens.Hora.It beckens you to goe away with it,As if it some impartment did desireTo you alone.Mar.Looke with what courteous actionIt waves you to a more removed ground,But doe not goe with it.Hora.No, by no meanes.Ham.It will not speake, then I will follow it.Hora.Doe not my Lord.Ham.Why? what should be the feare?I doe not set my life at a pins fee:And for my soule, what can it doe to that,Being a thing immortall like it selfe?It waves me forth againe, Ile follow it.Hora.What if it tempt you toward the flood my Lord,Or to the dreadfull somnet of the cleefe,That bettels ore his base into the sea,And there assume some other horrible forme,Which might deprive your soveraignty of reason,And draw you into madnesse? thinke of it,The very place puts toyes of desperationWithout more motive, into every braine,That lookes so many fadomes to the sea,And heares it roare beneath.Ham.It waves me still,Goe on, Ile follow thee.Mar.You shall not goe my Lord.Ham.Hold off your hands.Hora.Be rul'd, you shall not goe.Ham.My fate cryes out,And makes each petty artery in this bodyC3AsThe Tragedy of HamletAs hardy as the Nemean Lions nerve:Still am I call'd; unhand me Gentlemen,By heaven Ile make a Ghost of him that lets me:I say away: Goe on, Ile follow thee.Exit Ghost and Hamlet.Hor.He waxes desperate with imagination.Mar.Lets follow, 'tis not fit thus to obey him.Hora.Have after: to what issue will this come?Mar.Something is rotten in the State of Denmarke.Hora.Heaven will direct it.Mar.Nay let's follow him.Exeunt.Enter Ghost and Hamlet.Ham.Whither wilt thou lead me? speake, Ile goe no further.Ghost.Marke me.Ham.I will.Ghost.My houre is almost come,When I to sulphrous and tormenting flamesMust render up my selfe.Ham.Alas poore Ghost.Ghost.Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearingTo what I shall unfold,Ham.Speake, I am bound to heare.Gho.So art thou to revenge when thou shalt heare.Ham.What?Ghost.I am thy fathers spirit,Doom'd for a certaine terme to walke the night,And for the day confin'd to fast in fires,Till the foule crimes, done in my dayes of natureAre burnt and purg'd away: But that I am forbidTo tell the secrets of my prison‐house,I could a tale unfold, whose lightest wordWould harrow up thy soule, freeze thy young blood,Make thy two eyes like stars tart from their spheres,Thy knotted and combined lockes to part,And each particular haire to stand an endLike quills upon the fearefull Porpentine:But this eternall blazon must not beTo eares of flesh and blood: list, list, O list,If thou didst ever thy deare father love.Ham.Prince of Denmarke.Ham.O God!Gho.Revenge his foule & most unnaturall murder.Ham.Murder!Ghost.Murder most foule, as in the best it is;But this most foule, strange and unnaturall.Ham.Hast me to know't, that I with wings as swiftAs mediation, or the thoughts of love,May sweepe to my revenge.Ghost.I finde thee apt;And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weedThat roots it selfe in ease on Lethe wharfe,Wouldst thou not stirre in this: now Hamlet heare,'Tis given out, that sleeping in my OrchardA Serpent stung me: so the whole eare of DenmarkeIs by a forged processe of my deathRankely abused: but know thou, noble Youth,The Serpent that did sting thy fathers lifeNow weares his Crowne.Ham.O my Propheticke soule, my uncle!Ghost.I, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,With witchcraft of his wits, with trait'rous gifts,O wicked wits, and gifts that have the powerSo to seduce! won to his shamefull lustThe will of my most seeming vertuous Queene.O Hamlet, what a falling off was thereFrom me, whose love was of that dignity,That it went hand in hand even with the vowI made to her in marriage? and to declineUpon a wretch, whose naturall gifts were pooreTo those of mine but vertue, as it never will be mov'dThough lewdnesse court it in a shape of heaven,So but though to a radiant Angle linckt,Will sort it selfe in a celestiall bed,And prey on garbage.But soft, me thinkes I sent the morning aire,Briefe let me be: Sleeping within my Orchard,My custome alwaies of the afternoone,Upon my secure houre thy uncle stoleWithThe Tragedy of HamletWith juice of cursed Hebona in a Viall,And in the porches of my eares did poureThe leprous distilment, whose effectHolds such an enmity with blood of man,That swift as Quick‐silver it courses throughThe naturall gates and allies of the body,And with a sudden vigour it doth possesseAnd curd, like eager droppings into milke,The thin and wholsome blood; so did it mine,And a most instant Tetter barkt aboutMost Lazar‐like, with vile and loathsome crustAll my smooth body.Thus was I sleeping, by a brothers hand,Of life, of Crowne, of Queene at once dispatcht,Cut off even in the blossomes of my sinne,Unnuzled, disappointed, un‐anueld,No reckoning made, but sent to my accountWith all my imperfections on my head.Oh horrible, O horrible, most horrible,If thou hast nature in thee beare it not,Let not the royall bed of Denmarke beA couch for Luxury and damned Incest.But howsomever thou pursuest this act,Taint not thy minde, nor let thy soule contriveAgainst thy mother ought, leave her to heaven,And to those thornes that in her bosome lodge,To pricke and sting her: fare thee well at once,The Gloworme shewes the matine to be neere,And 'gins to pale his uneffectuall fire:Adieu, adieu, adieu, remember me.Ham.O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else?And shall I couple hell? O fie! hold my heart,And you my sinewes, grow not instant old,But beare me swiftly up; remember thee!I thou poore Ghost, whiles memory holds a seatIn this distracted Globe: remember thee!Yea, from the table of my memorieIle wipe away all triviall fond records,AllPrince of Denmarke.All saw of bookes, all formes, all pressures past,That youth and observation copied there,And thy commandement all alone shall liveWithin the booke and volume of my braine,Unmixt with baser matter; yes by heaven.O most pernicious woman!O villaine, villaine, smiling damned villaine!My tables, meet it is I set downe,That one may smile, and smile, and be a villaine;At least I am sure it may be so in Denmarke.So uncle there you are: now to my word,It is adieu, adieu, remember me.I have sworne't.Enter Horatio and Marcellus.Hora.My Lord, my Lord.Mar.Lord Hamlet.Hora.Heavens secure him.Ham.So be it.Mar.Illo, ho, ho, my Lord.Ham.Hillo, ho, ho boy, come, and come.Mar.How is't my noble Lord?Ham.O wonderfull!Hor.Good my Lord tell it.Ham.No, you will reveale it.Hora.Not I my Lord by heaven.MarNor I my Lord.Ham.How say you then, would heart of man once thinke it?But you'll be secret.Both.I by heaven.Ham.There's never a villaineDwelling in all Denmarke,But hee's an arrant Knave.Hora.There needs no Ghost, my Lord, come from the graveTo tell us this.Ham.Why right, you are in the right,And so without more circumstance at allI hold it fit that we shake hands and part,You as your businesse and desire shall point you,For every man hath businesse and desire,DSuchThe Tragedy of HamletSuch as it is, and for my owne poore partI will goe pray.Hora.These are but wild and whurling words my Lord.Ham.I am sorry they offend you heartily,Yes faith heartily.Hora.There's no offence my Lord.Ham.Yes by Saint Patricke but there is Horatio,And much offence too: touching this vision here,It is an honest Ghost, that let me tell you;For your desire to know what is betweene usOre‐master't as you may: and now good friends,As you are friends, Scholars, and SouldiersGive me one poore request.Hora.What is't my Lord, we will.Ham.Never make knowne what you have seene to night.Both.My Lord we will not.Ham.Nay but swear't.Hora.In faith my Lord not I.Mar.Nor I my Lord in faith.Ham.Upon my sword.Mar.We have sworne my Lord already:Ham.Indeed upon my sword, indeed.Ghost cries under the stage.Ghost.Sweare.Ham.Ha, ha, boy, saist thou so? art thou there true‐penny?Come on, you heare this fellow in the SelleridgeConsent to sweare.Hora.Propose the oath my Lord.Ham.Never to speake of this that you have seene,Sweare by my sword.Ghost.Sweare.Ham.Hic & ubique, then wee'll shift our ground:Come hither GentlemenAnd lay your hands againe upon my sword:Sweare by my sword.Never to speake of this that you have heard.Ghost.Sweare by his sword.Ham.Well said old Mole, canst thou worke i'th earth so fast?A wor­Prince of Denmarke.A worthy Pioner, once more remove good friends.Hora.O day and night but this is wondrous strange.Ham.And therefore as a stranger give it welcome:There are more things in heaven and earth HoratioThan are dream't of in your Philosophy: but come,Here as before; never so help you mercy,(How strange or odde so ere I beare my selfe,As I perchance hereafter shall thinke meet,To put an antike disposition on,That you at such times seeing me, never shallWith armes encombred thus, or head thus shak't,Or by pronouncing of some doubtfull phrase,As, well well, we know, or we could and if we would,Or if we list to speake, or there be and if they might,Or such ambiguous giving out, to note)That you know ought of me, this doe sweare,So grace and mercy at your most need helpe you.Ghost.Sweare.Ham.Rest, rest, perturbed spirit. So GentlemenWith all my love I doe commend me to you,And what so poore a man as Hamlet isMay doe t'expresse his love and friending to youGod willing shall not lacke: let us goe in together,And still your fingers on your lips I pray,The time is out of joint, O cursed spightThat ever I was borne to set it right!Nay come, lets goe together.Exeunt.Enter old Polonius with his man or two.Pol.Give him this money, and these two notes Reynaldo.Rey.I will my Lord.Pol.You shall doe marvellous wisely, good Before you visit him to make inquireOf his behaviour.Rey.My Lord I did intend it.Pol.Marrie well said, very well said, looke you sir,Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris,And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,What company, at what expence: and findingD2ByThe Tragedy of HamletBy this encompassment and drift of question,That they doe know my son, come you more neererThen your particular demands will touch it,Take you as't were some distant knowledge of him,As thus, I know his father, and his friends,And in part him: Doe you marke this Reynaldo?Rey.I, very well my Lord.Pol.And in part him, but you may say not well,But if it be he I meane hee's very wilde,Addicted so and so, and there put on himWhat forgeries you please, marry none so rankeAs may dishonour him, take heed of that;But sir, such wanton, wild, and usuall slipsAs are companions noted and most knowneTo youth and liberty.Rey.As gaming my Lord.Pol.I, or drinking, fencing, swearing,Quarrelling, drabbing, you may goe so farre.Rey.My Lord, that would dishonour him.Pol.Faith as you may season it in the charge.You must not put another scandall on him,That he is open to incontinency,That's not my meaning, but breath his faults so quaintly,That they may seeme the taints of liberty,The flash and out‐breake of a fiery mind,A savagenesse in unreclaimed bloodOf generall assault.Rey.But my good Lord.Pol.Wherefore should you doe this?Rey.I my Lord, I would know that.Pol.Marrysir here's my drift,And I beleeve it is a fetch of wit.You laying these sleight sullies on my sonne,As 'twere a thing a little soil'd with working,Mark you, your party in converse, he you would sound,Having ever seene in the prenominate crimesThe youth you breath of guilty, be assur'dHe closes with you in this consequence;GoodPrince of Denmarke.Good sir (or so) or friend, or Gentleman,According to the phrase or the additionOf man and countrey:Rey.Very good my Lord.Pol.And then sir does a this, a does: what was I about to say?By the Masse I was about to say something,Where did I leave?Rey.At closes in the consequence.Pol.At closes in the consequence; I marry,He closes thus, I know the GentlemanI saw him yesterday, or th'other day,Or then, or then, with such or such, and, as you say,There was a gaming there, or tooke in's rowse,There falling out at Tennis, or perchanceI saw him enter such and such a house of sale,Videlicet, a Brothell, or so forth. See you now,Your bait of falshood takes this carpe of truth,And thus doe we of wisdome and of reach,With windlesses, and with essayes of byas,By indirects finde directions out:So by my former Lecture and adviceShall you my sonne. You have me, have you not?Rey.My Lord I have.Pol.God buy ye, fare ye well.Rey.Good my Lord.Pol.Observe his inclination in your selfe.Rey.I shall my Lord.Pol.And let him ply his Musicke.Rey.Well my Lord.Exit Rey.Enter Ophelia.Pol.Farwell. How now Ophelia, what's the matter?Oph.O my Lord, my Lord, I have bin so affrighted.Polo.With what i'th name of God?Ophel.My Lord as I was sowing in my Closet,Lord Hamlet with his doublet all unbrac'd,No hat upon his head his stockins foul'd,Ungartred, and downe gyved to his ankle,Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,D3AndThe Tragedy of HamletAnd with a looke so piteous in purport,As if he had beene loosed out of hellTo speake of horrors, he comes before me.Pol.Mad for thy love?Ophel.My Lord I doe not know,But truely I doe feare it.Pol.What said he?Ophel.He took me by the wrist, and held me hard,Then goes he to the length of all his arme,And with his other hand thus ore his browHe falls to such perusall of my faceAs a would draw it: long staid he so,At lat, a little shaking of mine arme,And thrice his head thus waving up and downe,He raised a sigh so piteous and profoundAs it did seeme to shatter all his bulke,And end his being: that done, he lets me goe,And with his head over his shoulders turn'dHee seem'd to finde his way without his eyes;For out of doores he went without their helpes,And to the last bended their light on me.Pol.Come, goe with me, I will goe seeke the King,This is the very extasie of love,Whose violent property forgoes it selfe,And leads the will to desperate undertakings,As oft as any passions under heavenThat does afflict our natures: I am sorrie;What? have you given him any hard words of late?Ophel.No my good Lord, but as you did command,I did repell his letters, and deni'dHis accesse to me.Pol.That hath made him mad:I am sorrie that with better heed and judgementI had not coated him; I fear'd he did but trifle,And meant to wrack thee, but beshrew my jealousie;By heaven it is as proper to our ageTo cast beyond our selves in our opinions,As it is common for the younger sortToPrince of Denmarke.To lacke discretion: Come, goe we to the King,This must be knowne, which being kept close might moveMore griefe to hide, than hate to utter love.Come.Exeunt.Flourish. Enter King and Queene, Rosencraus and Guildensterne.King.Welcome deare Rosencraus and Guildensterne,Moreover, that we much did long to see you,The need we have to use you did provokeOur hastie sending. Something you have heardOf Hamlets transformatin, so I call it,Sith nor th'exterior, nor the inward manResembles that it was: what it should beMore than his fathers death, that thus hath put himSo much from the understanding of himselfeI cannot dreame of: I entreat you both,That being of so young dayes brought up with him,And sith so neighboured to his youth and haviour,That you vouchsafe your rest here in our CourtSome little time, so by your companiesTo draw him on to pleasures and to gatherSo much as from occasion you may gleane,Whether ought to us unknown afflicts him thus,That open'd lyes within our remedy.Que.Good Gentlemen, he hath much talkt of you,And sure I am two men there are not livingTo whom he more adheres; if it will please youTo shew us so much gentry and good will,As to expend your time with us a whileFor the supply and profit of our hope,Your visitation should receive such thankesAs fits a Kings remembrance.Ros.Both your MajestiesMight by the Soveraigne power you have of usPut your dread pleasures more into commandThan to intreaty.Guil.But we both obey,And here give up our selves in the full bentToThe Tragedy of HamletTo lay our service freely at your feet.KingThanks Rosencraus and gentle Guildenstern.Que.Thanks Guildenstern, and gentle Rosencraus.And I beseech you instantly to visitMy too much changed sonne: goe some of youAnd bring these Gentlemen where Hamlet is.Guil.Heavens make our presence and our practicesPleasant and helpfull to him.Queen.Amen.Exeunt Ros. and Guil.Enter Polonius.Pol.Th'Embassadors from Norway, my good Lord,Are joyfully return'd.King.Thou stil hast bin the Father of good newes.Pol.Have I my Lord? I assure my good LiegeI hold my duty as I hold my soule,Both to my God and to my gracious King:And I doe thinke, or else this braine of mineHunts not the trayle of policie so sureAs it hath us'd to doe, that I have foundThe very cause of Hamlets lunacie.King.O speake of that, that doe I long to heare.Pol.Give first admittance to the Embassadors,My newes shall be the fruit to that great feaft.King.Thy selfe doe grace to them, & bring them in.He tels me, my deare Gertrud, he hath foundThe head and source of all your sonnes distemper.Quee.I doubt it is no other but the maine,His fathers death, and our hastie marriage.Enter Embassadors.King.Well, we shall sift him: welcome my good friends;Say Voltemand, what from our brother Norway?Vol.Most faire returne of greetings and desires:Upon our first he sent out to suppresseHis Nephewes levies, which to him appear'dTo be a preparation 'gainst the Pollacke,But better lookt into, he truly foundIt was against your Highnesse; whereat griev'dThat so his sicknesse, age, and impotenceWasPrince of Denmarke.Was falsly borne in hand, sends out arrestsOn Fortenbrasse, which he in briefe obayesReceives rebuke from Norway, and in fine,Makes vow before his uncle never moreTo give th'assay of armes against your Majestie:Whereon old Norway overcome with joyGives him threescore thousand crowns in annual fee,And his Commission, to imploy those SouldiersSo levied as before, against the Pollacke,With an entreaty herein further showne,That it might please you to give quiet passeThrough your dominions for this enterprizeOn such regards of safety and allowanceAs herein are set downe.King.It likes us well,And at our more considered time wee'll read,Answer, and thinke upon this businesse:Meane time we thank you for your well took labour,Goe to your rest, at night wee'll feast together:Most welcome home.Exeunt Embassadors.Pol.This businesse is well ended,My Liege and Madam, to expostulateWhat majestie should be, what duty is,Why day is day, night night, and time is time,Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time;Therefore brevitie is the soule of wit,And tediousnesse the limbes and outward flourishesI will be briefe: your noble sonne is mad,Mad call I it, for to define true madnesse,What is't but to be nothing else but mad?But let that goe.Quee.More matter with lese art.Pol.Madam I sweare I use no art at all,That hee's mad 'tis true, 'tis true, 'tis pitty,And pitty 'tis 'tis true, a foolish figure,But farewell it, for I will use no art:Mad let us grant him then, and now remainesThat we finde out the cause of this effect,DOrThe Tragedy of HamletOr rather say the cause of this defect,For this effect defective comes by cause:Thus it remaines, and the remainder thus.Perpend.I have a daughter, have while she is mine,Who in her duty and obedience, marke,Hath given me this; now gather and surmise.

To the Celestiall, my soules Idoll, the most beautifiedOphelia. That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase, beautified is a vile phrase: but you shall heare, thus in her excellent white bosome, These, &c.

Que en.Came this from Hamlet to her?Pol.Good Madam stay a while, I will be faithfull.Doubt thou the starres are fire,Letter.Doubt that the sunne doth move,Doubt truth to be a lyer,But never doubt I love.

O deareOpheliaI am ill at these numbers, I have not art to reckon my groanes; but that I love thee best, O most best beleeve it: Adieu. Thine evermore most deare Lady, whilest this machine is to him,Hamlet.

Pol.This in obedience hath my daughter showne me,And more about have his solicitings,As they fell out by time, by meanes, and place,All given to mine eare.King.But how hath she receiv'd his love?Pol.What doe you thinke of me?King.As of a man faithfull and honourable.Pol.I would faine prove so; but what might you thinkeWhen I had seene this hot love on the wing,As I perceiv'd it (I must tell you that)Before my daughter told me; what might youOr my deare Majestie your Queen here thinke,If I had plaid the deske, or Table‐booke,Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumbe,Or lookt upon this love with idle sight,What might you thinke? no, I went round to worke,And my young Mistresse thus I did bepeake:Lord Hamlet is a Prince out of thy sphere,This must not be: and then I precepts gave her,ThatPrince of Denmarke.That she should locke her selfe from his resort,Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.Which done, she tooke the fruits of my advice;And he repell'd, a short tale to make,Fell into a sadnesse, then into a Fast,Thence to a watch, thence into a weaknesse,Thence to a lightnesse, and by this declensionInto the madnesse wherein now he raves,And all we mourne for.King.Doe you thinke 'tis this?Que.It may be very likely.Pol.Hath there been such a time, I would faine kno w thatThat I have positively said, 'tis so,When it prov'd otherwise?King.Not that I know.Pol.Take this from this, if this be otherwise,If circumstances lead me, I will findeWhere truth is hid, though it were hid indeedWithin the Centre.King.How may we try it further?Pol.You know sometimes he walkes foure houres togetherHere in the Lobby.Queen.So he does indeed.Pol.At such a time Ile loose my daughter to him,Be you and I behind the Arras then,Marke the encounter; if he love her not,And be not from his reason falne thereon,Let me be no assistant for a State,But keep a Farme and Carters.King.We will try it.Enter Hamlet.Queen.But look where sadly the poore wretch comes reading.Pol.Away, I doe besecch you both away,Exit King and Queen.Ile board him presently. Oh give me leave.How does my good Lord Hamlet?Ham.Well, God a mercy.Pol.Doe you know me, my Lord?Ham.Excellent well, you are a Fishmonger.Pol.Not I my Lord.E2Ham.The Tragedy of HamletHam.Then I would you were so honest a manPol.Honest my Lord?Ham.I sir, to be honest as this world goesIs to be one man pickt out of ten thousand.Pol.That's very true my Lord.Ham.

For if the Sunne breed maggots in a dead dogge, being a good kissing carrion. Have you a daughter?

Pol.I have my Lord.Ham.Let her not walke i'th Sun, conception is a blessing,But as your daughter may conceive, friend looke to't.Pol.

How say you by that? still harping on my daughter, yet he knew me not at first, a said I was a fish‐monger, a is far gone; and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love, very neare this: Ile speake to him againe. What doe you read my Lord?

Ham.

Words, words, words.

Pol.

What is the matter my Lord?

Ham.

Betweene who?

Pol.

I meane the matter that you read my Lord:

Ham.

Slanders sir: for the Satyricall Rogue saies here, that old men have gray beards, that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging thicke Amber, and Plum‐tree Gum, and that they have a plentifull lacke of wit, together with most weake hams, all which sir though I most powerfully and potently beleeve, yet I hold it not honestie to have it thus set downe, for your selfe sir shall grow old, as I am, if like a crab you could goe backward.

Pol.

Though this be madnesse, yet there is method in't, will you walke out of the aire my Lord?

Ham.

Into my grave.

Pol.

Indeed that's out of the aire; how pregnant sometimes his replyes are? a happines that often madnes hits on, which rea­ son and sanctitie could not so happily be delivered of. I will leave him and my daughter. My Lord I will take my leave of you.

Ham.

You cannot take from me any thing that I will not more willingly part withall, except my life, except my life, except my life.Enter Guildensterne and Rosencraus.

Pol.

Fare you well my Lord.

Ham.

These tedious old fooles.

Pol.

You goe to seeke the Lord Hamlet, there he is.

Ros.Prince of Denmarke.Ros.God save your sir.Guil.My honoured Lord.Ros.My most deare Lord.Ham.My excellent good friends, how dost thou Guyldenstern?Ah Rosencraus, good lads how doe you both?Ros.As the indifferent children of the earth.Guyl.Happy in that we are not ever happy on fortunes cap,We are not the very button.Ham.Nor the soles of her shooe.Ros.Neither my Lord.Ham.Then you live about her wast, or in the middle of her fa­ (vors.Guyl.Faith her privates we.Ham.

In the secret parts of fortune, oh most true, she is a strum­ pet. What newes?

Ros.None my Lord, but the worlds growne honest.Ham.Then is Doomes‐day neere: but your newes is not (true.But in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsenour?Ros.To visit you my Lord, no other occasion.Ham.

Begger that I am, I am even poore in thanks, but I thank you, and sure deare friends my thanks are too deare a halfe‐peny: were you not sent for? is it your owne inclining? is it a free visita­ tion? come, come, deale justly with me, come, come, nay speake.

Guyl.

What should we say my Lord?

Ham.

Any thing, but to'th purpose, you were sent for, and there is a kind of confession in your lookes, which your modesties have not craft enough to colour: I know the good King and Queene have sent for you.

Ros.

To what end my Lord?

Ham.

That you must teach me: but let me conjure you by the rights of our fellowships, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever preserved love, and by what more deare a better proposer can charge you withall, bee even and direct with me whether you were sent for or no.

Ros.

What say you?

Ham.

Nay then I have an eie of you, if you love me hold not off.

Guyl.

My Lord we were sent for.

Ham.

I will tell you why, so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no fea­ E3ther:The Tragedy of Hamlet ther: I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custome of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame the earth seemes to mee a sterill promontorie; this most excellent Canopie the aire, looke you, this brave ore‐hanged firmament, this majesticall roofe fret­ ted with golden fire, why it appeareth othing to me but a foule and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece a worke is man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in forme and moving how expresse and admirable! in action how like an An­ gel! in apprehension how like a God! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals; & yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seeme to say so.

Ros.

My Lord there was no such stuffe in my thoughts.

Ham.

Why did ye laugh then, when I said man delights not me?

Ros.

To thinke my Lord, if you delight not in man, what Lenten entertainment the Plaiers shall receive from you, we coated them on the way, and hither are they comming to offer you service.

Ham.

He that playes the King shall be welcome, his Majestie shall have tribute of mee, the adventurous Knight shall use his foyle and target, the lover shall not sigh gratis, the humorous man shall end his part in peace, and the Lady shall say her mind freely, or the blanke verse shall halt for't. What players are they?

Ros.

Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the Tra­ gedians of the City.

Ham.

How chances it they travell? their residence both in re­ putation and profit was better both wayes.

Ros.

I thinke their inhibition comes by the meanes of the late innovation.

Ham.

Doe they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the City? are they so followed?

Ros.

No indeed, they are not.

Ham.

It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and those that would make mouthes at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred duckets a peece for his picture in little: s'blood there is something in this more than naturall, if Philosophy could finde it out.A Flourish.

Guil.

There are the players.

Ham.Prince of Denmarke.Ha m.

Gentlemen you are welcome to Elsenour, your hands: come t hen, th'appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremo­ ny, let me comply with you in this garbe, lest my extent to the Plaiers, which I tell you must shew fairly outwards, should more appeare like entertainment than yours; you are welcome: but my Uncle‐father and Aunt‐mother are deceived.

Guyl.

In what my deare Lord?

Ham.

I am but mad North North‐west, when the wind is Sou­ therly I know a hawke from a hand‐saw.

Enter Polonius.Pol.

Well be with you Gentlemen.

Ham.

Harke you Guyldenstern, and you too, at each eare a hea­ rer, that great baby as you see is not yet out of his swadling clouts.

Ros.

Happely he is the second time come to them, for they say an old man is twice a child.

Ham.

I will prophecie that he comes to tell me of the Players, marke it: You say right sir, a Munday morning 'twas then indeed.

Pol.

My Lord I have newes to tell you.

Ham.

My Lord I have newes to tell you: when Rossius was an Actor in Rome.

Pol.

The Actors are come hither my Lord.

Ham.

Buz, buz.

Pol.

Upon mine honour.

Ham.

Then came each Actor on his asse.

Pol.

The best Actors in the world, either for Tragedy, Comedy, History, Pastorall, Pastorall‐Comicall, Historical‐Pastorall scene indevidable, or Poem unlimited: Seneca cannot bee too heavie, nor Plautus too light for the law of writ and the liberty; these are the onely men.

Ham.

O Jeptha Judge of Israel what a treasure hadst thou?

Pol.

What a treasure had he my Lord?

Ham.

Why one faire daughter and no more, the which hee lo­ ved passing well.

Pol.

Still on my daughter.

Ham.

Am I not i'th right old Jeptha?

Pol.

What followes then my Lord?

Ham.

Why as by lot God wot, and then you know it came to passe, as most like it was: the first row of the pans chanson will shewThe Tragedy of Hamlet shew you more, for looke where my abridgement comes.

Enter the Players.Ham.

You are welcome masters, welcome all, I am glad to see thee well, welcome good friends; oh old friend! why thy face is valanc'd since I saw thee last, com'st thou to beard mee in Den­ marke? what my young Lady and Mistresse! my Lady your Ladi­ ship is neerer to heaven than when I saw you last by the altitude of a chopine, pray God your voice, like a peece of uncurrant gold, be not crackt within the ring: masters you are all welcome, wee'll e'en to't like friendly Faukners, flye at any thing wee see, wee'll have a speech strait, come give us a taste of your quality, come a passionate speech.

Player.

What speech my good Lord?

Ham.

I heard thee speake me a speech once, but it was never a­ cted, or if it was, not above once, for the play I remember pleased not the million, 'twas caviary to the generall, but it was as I recei­ ved it and others, whose judgements in such matters cried in the top of mine, an excellent play, well digested in the scenes, set downe with as much modesty as cunning. I remember one said there were no sallets in the lines to make the matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might indite the author of affection, but call'd it an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine; one speech in't I chiefly loved, 'twas Æneas talke to Dido, and thereabout of it especially when he speakes of Priams slaughter, if it live in your memory begin at this line, let me see, let me see, the rugged Pyrrhus like th'ircanian Beast, 'tis not it begins with Pyrrhus. The rugged Pyrrhus, hee whose sable armes,

Blacke as his purpose did the night resemble,When he lay couched in th'ominous horse,Hath now his dread and blacke complection smear'dWith Heraldry more dismall head to foot:Now is he totall Gules, horridly tricktWith blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sonnes,Bak'd and embasted with the parching streets,That lend a tyrannous and a damned lightTo their Lords murder, rosted in wrath and fire,And thus ore‐cised with coagulate gore,WithPrince of Denmarke.With eyes like Carbuncle, the hellish PyrrhusOld gransire Priam seekes; so proceed you.Pol.Fore God my Lord well spoken, with good accent and good (discretion.Play.Anon he finds himStriking too short at Greekes, his anticke swordRebellious to his arme, lyes where it falls,Repugnant to command; unequall matcht,Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide,But with the whiffe and winde of his fell swordTh'unnerved father falls.Seeming to feele this blow, with flaming topStoops to his base, and with a hideous crashTakes prisoner Pyrrhus eare: for loe his sword,Which was declining on the milky headOf reverent Priam, seem'd i'th ayre to sticke,So as a painted tyrant Pyrrhus stood,Like a neutrall to his will and matter,Did nothing:But as we often see againt some storme,A silence in the heavens, the rackes stand still,The bold wind speechlesse, and the orbe belowAs hush as death, anon the dreadfull thunderDoth rend the region: so after Pyrrhus pawse,A rowsed vengeance sets him new aworke,And never did the Cyclops hammers fall,On Mars his armour, forg'd for proofe eterne,With lesse remorse than Pyrrhus bleeding swordNow falls on Priam.Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! all you godsIn generall synod take away her power,Breake all the spokes and felloes from her wheele,And boule the round nave downe the hill of heaven,As low as to the fiends.Pol.

This is too long.

Ha.

It shall to the Barbers with your beard: prethee say on, he's for a jig, or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps; say on, come to Hecuba.

Play.But who, ah woe had seene the mobled Queene.Ham.

The mobled Queene!

FPolo.The Tragedy of HamletPolo.

That's good.

Play.Run barefoot up and downe, threatning the flames,With Bison rhume, a clout upon that headWhere late the diadem tood, and for a robe,About her lanke and all ore‐teamed loynes,A blanket in the alarme of feare caught up.Who this had seene, with tongue in venome steept,'Gainst fortunes state would treason have pronounc'd:But if the gods themselves did see her then,When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sportIn mincing with his sword her husbands limbes,The instant burst of clamor that she made,Unlesse things mortall move them not at all,Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven,And passion in the gods.Pol.

Looke where he has not turned his colour, and has teares in's eyes: prethee no more.

Ham.

'Tis well, Ile have thee speake out the rest of this soone. Good my Lord doe you see the Players well bestowed, doe you heare, let them be well used, for they are the abstract and briefe Chronicles of the time; after your death you were better have a bad Epitaph, than their ill report while you live.

Pol.

My Lord I will use them according to their desert.

Ham.

Gods bodkin man much better, use every man after his desert, and who shall scape whipping? use them after your owne honour and dignity, the lesse they deserve the more merit is in your bounty: Take them in.

Pol.

Come sirs.

Ham.

Follow him friends, wee'll heare a play to morrow; doest thou heare me old friend, can you play the murder of Gonzago?

Play.

I my Lord.

Ham.

Wee'll hav't to morrow night: you could for need study a speech of some dosen lines, or sixteene lines, which I would set downe and insert in't, could you not?

Play.

I my Lord.

Ham.

Very well: follow that Lord, and looke you mocke him not. My good friends, Ile leave you till night, you are welcome to Elsenour.Exeunt Pol. and Players.

Ros.Prince of Denmarke.Res.

Good my Lord.Exit.

Ham.I so, God buy to you; now am I alone.O what a Rogue and pesant slave am I!Is it not monstrous that this Player hereBut in a fiction, in a dreame of passion,Could force his soule so to his owne conceit,That from her working all the visage wand,Teares in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,A broken voice, and his whole function sutingWith formes to his conceit, and all for nothing,For Hecuba?What's Hecuba to him, or he to her,That he should weep for her? what would he doHad he the motive, and that for passionThat I have? he would drown the stage with teares,And cleave the generall eare with horrid speech,Make mad the guilty, and appeale the free,Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeedThe very faculties of eyes and eares; yet I,A dull and muddy metled raskall, peakeLike John‐a‐dreames, unpregnant of my cause,And can say nothing, no not for a King,Upon whose property and most deare lifeA damn'd defeat was made: am I a coward?Who calls me villaine, breakes my pate acrosse,Pluckes off my beard, and blowes it in my face,Twekes me by'th nose, gives me the lye i'th throatAs deep as to the lungs? who does me this?Hah? s'wounds I should take it, for it cannot beBut I am pigeon liver'd, and lacke gallTo make oppression bitter, or ere thisI should have fatted all the region KitesWith this slaves offall: bloudy, baudy villaine,Remorslesse, trecherous, lecherous, kindlesse villain.Why what an Asse am I? this is most brave,That I the sonne of a deare father murthered,Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,Must like a whore unpacke my heart with words,F2AndThe Tragedy of HamletAnd fall a cursing like a very drabbe, stallion, fie upon't, foh.About my braines, hum, I have heardThat guilty creatures sitting at a PlayHave by the very cunning of the SceneBeene strooke so to the soule, that presentlyThey have proclaim'd their malefactions:For murther though it have no tongue will speakeWith most miraculous organ. Ile have these PlayersPlay something like the murther of my fatherBefore mine uncle: Ile observe his lookes,Ile tent him to the quicke, if a doe blenchI know my course. The spirit that I have seeneMay be a divell, and the divell hath powerT'assume a pleasing shape, yea and perhapsOut of my weaknesse and my melancholly,As he is very potent with such spirits,Abuses me to damne me: Ile have groundsMore relative than this, the Play's the thingWherein Ile catch the conscience of the King.Exit.Enter King, Queene, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencraus, Guyl­ densterne, Lords.King.And can you by no drift of conferenceGet from him why he puts on this confusion,Grating so harshly all his daies of quietWith turbulent and dangerous lunacie?Ros.He does confesse he feeles himselfe distracted,But from what cause he will by no meanes speake.Guyl.Nor doe we find him forward to be sounded,But with a crafty madnesse keepes aloofeWhen we would bring him on to some confessionOf his true estate.Quee.Did he receive you well?Ros.Most like a Gentleman.Guyl.But with much forcing of his disposition.Ros.Niggard of question, but of our demandsMost free in his reply.Quee.Did you assay him to any pastime?Ros.Madam, it so fell out that certaine PlayersWePrince of Denmarke.We ore‐raught on the way, of these we told him,And there did seeme in him a kind of joyTo heare of it; they are here about the Court,And as I thinke they have already orderThis night to play before him.Pol.'Tis most true,And he beseecht me to entreat your MajestiesTo heare and see the matter.King.With all my heart,And it doth much content me,To heare him so inclin'd:Good Gentlemen give him a further edge,And drive his purpose into these delights.Ros.We shall my Lord.Exeunt Ros. & Guyl.King.Sweet Gertrard leave us two,For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,That he as 'twere by accident may hereAffront Ophelia; her father and my selfe,Wee'll so betow our selves, that seeing unseeneWe may of their encounter frankly judge,And gather by him as he is behav'd,If't be th'affliction of his love or noThat thus he suffers for.Quee.I shall obey you:And for my part Ophelia I doe wishThat your good beauties be the happy causeOf Hamlets wildnesse, so shall I hope your vertuesWill bring him to his wonted way againe,To both your honours.Ophel.Madam, I wish it may.Pol.Ophelia walk you here: gracious so please youWe will bestow our selves; read on this Booke,That shew of such an exercise may colourYour lonelinesse: we are oft to blame in this,'Tis too much prov'd, that with devotions visage,And pious action we doe sugar o'reThe divell himselfe.King.O 'tis too true:F3HowThe Tragedy of HamletHow smart a lash that speech doth give my conscence!The harlots cheeke beautied with plastring art,Is not more ugly to the thing that helpes it,Than is my deed to my most painted word:O heavie burden!Enter Hamlet.Pol.I heare him comming, withdraw my Lord.Ham.To be, or not to be, that is the question,Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrowes of outragious fortune,Or to take armes against a sea of troubles,And by opposing end them: To dye to sleepeNo more; and by a sleepe to say we endThe heart‐ake, and the thousand naturall shockesThat flesh is heire to; 'tis a consummationDevoutly to be wisht, to dye to sleepe,To sleep perchance to dreame, I there's the rub,For inthat sleep of death what dreames may come,When we have shuffled off this mortall coyleMust give us pause, there's the respectThat makes calamity of so long life:For who would beare the whips and scornes of time,Th'oppressors wrong, the proud mans contumely,The pangs of despised love, and the Lawes delay,The insolence of office, and the spurnesThat patient merit of th'unworthy takes,When as himselfe might his Quietus makeWith a bare bodkin? who would fardels beare,To grunt and sweat under a weary life?But that the dread of something after death,The undiscover'd Countrey, from whose borneNo traveller returnes, puzzels the willAnd makes us rather beare those ills we have,Than flye to others that we know not of.Thus conscience does make cowards,And thus the native hiew of resolutionIs sicklied ore with the pale cast of thought:And enterprises of great pitch and moment,With this regard their currents turne awry,AndPrince of Denmarke.And lose the name of action. Soft you now,The faire Ophelia, Nimph in thy Orizons?Be all my sins remembred?Ophel.Good my Lord,How does your honour for this many a day?Ham.I humbly thanke you, well.Ophel.My Lord I have remembrances of yours,That I have longed long to re‐deliver,I pray you now receive them.Ham.No, not I, I never gave you ought.Ophel.My honour'd Lord, you know right well you did,And with them words of so sweet breath composedAs made these things more rich: their perfume lost,Take these againe: for to the noble mindeRich gifts waxe poore when givers prove unkind.There my Lord.Ham.Ha, ha, are you honest?Ophel.My Lord.Ham.Are you faire?Ophel.What meanes your Lordship?Ham.

That if you bee honeft and faire, you should admit no discourse to your beauty.

I truly, for the power of beautie will sooner transforme honestie from what it is to a baud, than the force of honestie can translate beauty to his lienesse: this was sometime a Paradoxe, but now the time gives it proofe. I did love you once.

Ophel.Indeed my Lord you made me beleeve so.Ham.

You should not have beleev'd mee, for vertue cannot so evacuate our old stocke but we shall rellish of it: I loved you not.

Ophel.I was the more deceived.Ham.

Get thee a Nunry, why wouldst thou be a breeder of sin­ ners? I am my selfe indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were better my mother had not born me: I am very proud, revengefull, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give thēthemshape, or time to act them in: what should such fellowes as I doe crawlingThe Tragedy of Hamlet crawling betweene earth and heaven? we are arrant Knaves, be­ leeve none of us, go thy waies to a Nunry. Where's your father?

Ophel.At home my Lord.Ham.Let the doores be shut upon him,That he may play the foole no where but in's owne house:Farewell.Ophel.O helpe him you sweet heavens.Ham.

If thou dost marry, Ile give thee this plague for thy dow­ ry, be thou as chaste as Ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny, get thee to a Nunry, farewell. Or if thou wilt needs mar­ ry, marrie a foole, for wisemen know well enough what monsters you make of them: to a Nunry, goe, and quickly too, farewell.

Ophel.Heavenly powers restore him.Ham.

I have heard of your paintings well enough: God hath gi­ ven you one face, and you make your selves another, gig and am­ ble, and you list you nickname Gods creatures, and make your wantonnesse ignorance; go too, Ile no more on't, it hath made me mad: I say we will have no moe marriages, those that are married already all but one shall live, the rest shall keepe as they are: to a Nunrie goe.Exit.

Ophel.O what a noble minde is here orethrowne!The Courtiers, Souldiers, Scholars, eie, tongue, sword,Th'expectation and Rose of the faire state,The glasse of fashion, and the mould of forme,Th'observ'd of all observers, quite, quite downe,And I of Ladies most deject and wretched,That suckt the honey of his Musicke vowes;Now see what noble and most soveraigne reasonLike sweet bels jangled out of time, and harsh,That unmatcht forme and stature of blowne youthBlasted with extasie. O woe is meT' have seen what I have seen, see what I see!Exit.Enter King and Polonius.King.Love! his affections doe not that way tend,For what he spake, though it lackt forme a little,Was not like madnes, there's something in his souleOre which his melancholy sits on brood,And I doe doubt the hatch and the discloseWillPrince of Denmarke.Will be some danger; which for to preventI have in quicke determinationThus set downe: he shall with speed to England,For the demand of our neglected tribute:Haply the Seas and Countries different,With variable objects shall expellThis something setled matter in his heart,Whereon his braines still beating,Puts him thus from fashion of himselfe.What thinke you on't?Pol.It shall doe well:But yet I doe beleeve the origen and commencement of itSprung from neglected love: how now Ophelia?You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said,We heard it all: my Lord doe as you please,But if you hold it fit, after the PlayLet his Queen‐mother all alone entreat himTo shew his griefe; let her be round with him,And Ile be plac'd (so please you) in the eareOf all their conference: if she find him not,To England send him, or confine him whereYour wisdome best shall think.King.It shall be so,Madnesse in great ones must not unmatcht goe.Exeunt.Enter Hamlet, and three of the Players.Ham.

Speake the speech I pray you as I pronounc'd it to you, trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of our Players do, I had as lieve the Towne‐crier spoke my lines: nor do not saw the aire too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent tempest, and, as I may say, whirle‐wind of your passion you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothnesse: O it offends mee to the soule to heare a ro­ bustious Perwig‐pated fellow teare a passion to totters, to very rags, to spleet the eares of the ground‐lings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumbe shewes and noise: I would have such a fellow whipt for ore‐doing Termagant, it out­ Herods Herod, pray you avoid it.

Play.

I warrant your honour.

GHam.The Tragedy of HamletHam.

Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor; sute the action to the word, the word to the action, with this speciall observance, that you ore‐step not the modestie of Nature: For any thing so ore‐done is from the purpose of play­ ing, whose end both at first, and now, was and is, to hold as 'twere the Mirrour up to nature, to shew vertue her feature, scorne her owne image, and the very age and body of the time his forme and pressure: now this over‐done, or come tardy of, though it makes the unskilfull laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of which one must in your allowance ore‐weigh a whole Theater of others. O there be Players that I have seene play, and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gate of Chritian, Pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of Natures Journy‐men had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.

Play.

I hope we have reformed that indifferently with us.

Ham.

O reforme it altogether: and let those that play your Clownes speake no more than is set downe for them, for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantitie of barren spectators to laugh too, though in the meane time some necessary question of the Play be then to be considered: that's vil­ lanous, and shewes a most pitifull ambition in the Foole that u­ ses it: goe, make you ready. How now my Lord? will the King heare this piece of worke?

Enter Polonius, Guyldensterne, and Rosencraus.Pol.And the Queene too, and that presently.Ham.Bid the Players make haste. Will you two help to hasten (them.Ros.I my Lord.Exeunt those two.Ham.What hoe, Horatio?Hora.Here sweet Lord, at your service.Ham.Horatio, thou art een as just a manAs ere my conversation cop't withall.Hora.O my deare Lord.Ham.Nay, doe not thinke I flatter,For what advancement may I hope from theeThat no revenue hast but thy good spiritsTo feed and cloath thee? why should the poor be flattered?No,Prince of Denmarke.No, let the candied tongue licke absurd pompe,And crooke the pregnant hinges of the kneeWhere thrift may follow fawning: doest thou heare?Since my deare soule was Mistris of her choice,And could of men distinguish her election,Sh'ath seal'd thee for her selfe: for thou hast binAs one in suffering all that suffers nothing;A man that fortunes buffets and rewardsHast ta'n with equall thanks: and blest are thoseWhose blood and judgement are so well comedledThat they are not a pipe for fortunes finger,To sound what stop she please: give me that manThat is not passions slave, and I will weare himIn my hearts core, I, in my heart of heart,As I doe thee. Something too much of this:There is a play to night before the King,One Scene of it comes neere the circumtanceWhich I have told thee of my Fathers death;I prethee when thou seest that Act on footEven with the very comment of thy souleObserve my uncle: if his occulted guiltDoe not it selfe unkennell in one speech,It is a damned Ghost that we have seene,And my imaginations are as fouleAs Vulcans stithy: give him heedfull note,For I mine eyes will rivet to his face,And after we will both our judgements joinIn censure of his seeming.Hora.Well my Lord,If a steale ought the whilst this Play is playingAnd scape detection, I will pay the theft.Enter Trumpets and Kettle Drums, King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia.Ham.They are comming to the play, I must be idle.Get you a place.King.How fares our Cousin Hamlet.Ham.Excellent ifaith,Of the Cameleons dish, I eat the aire,G2Pro­The Tragedy of HamletPromise‐cram'd, you cannot feed Capons so.King.I have nothing with this answer Hamlet,These words are not mine.Ham.No, nor mine now my Lord.You plai'd once in the University you say.Pol.That did I my Lord, and was accounted a good Actor.Ham.What did you enact?Pol.I did enact Julius Cæsar, I was kill'd i'th Capitoll,Brutus kill'd me.Ham.It was a brute part of him to kill so capitall a calfe there.Be the Players ready?Ros.I my Lord, they stay upon your patience.Ger.Come hither my deare Hamlet, sit by me.Ham.No good mother, here's metall more attractive.Pol.O ho, doe you marke that?Ham.Lady, shall I lye in your lap?Ophel.No my Lord.Ham.Doe you thinke I meant Countrey matters?Ophel.I thinke nothing my Lord.Ham.That's a faire thought to lye between maids legs.Ophel.What is my Lord?Ham.Nothing.Ophel.You are merry my Lord.Ham.Who I?Ophel.I my Lord.Ham.

O God! your onely Jig‐maker, what should a man doe but be merry: for looke you how cheerfully my mother lookes, and my father died within's two houres.

Ophel.Nay, 'tis twice two moneths my Lord.Ham.

So long! nay then let the divell weare black, for Ile have a sute of sables: O heavens! dye two months agoe, and not for­ gotten yet! then there's hope a great mans memory may out‐live his life halfe a yeere; but ber Lady a must build Churches then, or else shall a suffer not thinking on, with the Hobby‐horse, whose E­ pitaph is, for O, for O, the Hobby‐horse is forgot.

The Trumpets sound. Dumbe shew followes. Enter a King and a Queen, the Queene embracing him, and he her, he takes her up, and declines his head upon her necke, he lyes himPrince of Denmarke. him downe upon a banke of flowers, she seeing him asleepe, leaves him: anon comes in another man, takes off his Crowne, kisses it, poures poison in the sleepers eares, and leaves him: the Queen re­ turnes, findes the King dead, makes passionate action, the poisoner with some three or foure comes in again, seem to condole with her, the dead body is carried away, the poisoner woes the Queene with gifts, she seemes harsh a while, but in the end accepts love.Ophel.What meanes this my Lord?Ham.Marry it is munching Mallico, it meanes mischiefe.Ophel.Belike this shew imports the argument of the Play.Ham.We shall know by this fellow,Enter Prologue.The Players cannot keepe, they'll tell all.Ophel.Will a tell us what this shew meant?Ha.I, or any shew that you will shew him, be not you asham'd to shew, hee'll not shame to tell you what it meanes.Ophel.You are naught, you are naught, Ile marke the Play.Prologue.For us and for our Tragedy,Here stooping to your clemency,We begge your hearing patiently.Ham.Is this a Prologue, or the posie of a ring?Ophel.'Tis briefe my Lord.Ham.As womans love.Enter King and Queene.King.Full thirty times hath Phœbus Cart gone roundNeptunes salt wash, and Tellus orb'd the ground,And thirty dozen Moones with borrowed sheeneAbout the world have twelve times thirty been,Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our handsUnite commutuall in most sacred bands.Que.So many journies may the Sun and MooneMake us againe count ore ere love be done:But woe is me, you are so sicke of late,So farre from cheere, and from your former state,That I distrust you; yet though I distrust,Discomfort you my Lord it nothing must.For women feare too much, even as they love,And womans feare and love hold quantity,Either none, in neither ought, or in extremity.G3NowThe Tragedy of HamletNow what my love is proofe hath made you know,And as my love is ciz'd my feare is so:Where love is great, the littlest doubts are feare;Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.King.Faith I must leave thee love, and shortly tooMy operant powers their functions leave to doe,And thou shalt live in this faire world behind,Honour'd, belov'd, and haply one as kindFor husband shalt thou.Quee.O confound the rest!Such love must needs be treason in my breast.In second husband let me be accurst,None wed the second but who kill'd the first:Ham.That's wormwood.The instances that second marriage moveAre base respects of thrift, but none of love:A second time I kill my husband deadWhen second husband kisses me in bed.King.I do beleeve you thinke what now you speak,But what we doe determine oft we breake,Purpose is but the slave to memory,Of violent birth, but poore validity;Which now the fruit unripe stickes on the tree,But fall unshaken when they mellow be.Most necessary 'tis that we forgetTo pay our selves what to our selves is debt;What to our selves in passion we propose,The passion ending doth the purpose lose;The violence of either griefe or joyTheir owne enactures with themselves destroy;Where joy most revells griefe doth most lament:Griefe joy, joy griefes, on slender accident.This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange,That even our loves should with our fortunes change:For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.The great man downe, you marke his favourite flies,The poore advanc'd makes friends of enemies:And hitherto doth love on fortune tend,ForPrince of Denmarke.For who not needs shall never lacke a friend,And who in want a hollow friend doth try,Directly seasons him his enemy.But orderly to end where I begun,Our wills and fates doe so contrary run,That our devices still are overthrowne:Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our owne.So thinke thou wilt no second husband wed,But dye thy thoughts when thy first Lord is dead.Quee.Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light,Sport and repose locke from me day and nightTo desperation turne my trust and hope,And Anchors cheere in prison be my scope,Each opposite that blankes the face of joy,Meet what I would have well, and it destroy;Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife,Ham.If she should break it now.If once I be a widow, ever I be a wife.King.'Tis deeply sworne: sweet leave me here a while,My spirits grow dull, and faine I would beguileThe tedious day with sleep.Quee.Sleep rocke thy braine,And never come mischance betweene us twaine.Exeunt.Ham.Madam, how like you this play?Quee.The Lady doth protest too much me thinkes.Ham.O but shee'll keepe her word.Kin.Have you heard the argument? is there no offence in't?Ham.No, no, they doe but jest, poison in jest, no offence i'th (world.King.What doe you call the play?Ham.

The Mouse‐trap; marry how? tropically. This play is the image of a murther done in Vienna, Gonzago is the Dukes name, his wife Baptista, you shall see anon, 'tis a knavish piece of work, but what of that? your Majestie and we shall have free soules, it touches us not; let the galled jade winch, our withers are un­ wrung. This is one Lucianus Nephew to the King.

Enter Lucianus.Ophel.You are as good as a Chorus my Lord.Ham.I could interpret betweene you and your loveIf I could see the puppits dallying.Ophel.The Tragedy of HamletOphel.You are keene my Lord, you are keene.Ham.It would cost you a groaning to take off mine edge.Ophel.Still better and worse.Ham.

Thus runs the world away. Would not this sir, and a forrest of fea­ thers, if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me, with provincial Roses on my raz'd shooes, get me a fellowship in a city of plaiers?

Hora.Halfe a share.Ham.A whole one I.For thou doest know O Damon deareThis realme dismantled wasOf Jove himselfe, and now raignes hereA very very paiocke.Hora.You might have rim'd.Ham.O good Horatio, Ile take the Ghosts word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive?Hora.Very well my Lord.Ham.Upon the talke of the poisoning.Hora.I did very well note him.Ham.Prince of Denmarke.Ham.Ah ha, come some musicke, come the Recorders,For if the King likes not the Comedy,Why then belike he likes it not perdie.Come, some musicke.Enter Rosencraus and Guyldensterne.Guyl.

Good my Lord vouchsafe me a word with you.

Ham.

Sir a whole Historie.

Guyl.

The King sir.

Ham.

I sir, what of him?

Guyl.

Is in his retirement marvellous distempered.

Ham.

With drinke sir?

Guyl.

No my Lord, with choler.

Ham.

Your wisedome should shew it selfe more richer to sig­ nifie this to the Doctor; for for mee to put him to his purgationwould perhaps plunge him into more choler.

Guyl.Good my Lord put your discourse into some frame,And stare not so wildly upon my affaire.Ham.

I am tame sir, pronounce.

Guyl.

The Queene your mother in most great affliction of spi­ rit, hath sent me to you.

Ham.

You are welcome.

Guy.

Nay good my Lord, this courtesie is not of the right breed, if it shall please you to make mee a wholsome answer, I will doe your mothers commandement, if not, your pardon and my re­ turne shall be the end of the businesse.

Ham.

Sir I cannot.

Ros.

What my Lord?

Ha.

Make you a wholsome answer, my wit's diseas'd, but sir, such answer as I can make you shall command, or rather as you say, my mother; therefore no more, but to the matter, my mother you say.

Ros.

Then thus she saies, your behaviour hath strooke her into amazement and admiration.

Ham.

O wonderfull sonne that can so astonish a mother! but is there no sequell at the heels of this mothers admiration? impart.

Ros.

She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed.

Ham.

We shall obey, were she ten times our mother; have you any further trade with us?

Ros.

My Lord you once did love me.

HHam.The Tragedy of HamletHam.

And doe still by these pickers and stealers.

Ros.

Good my Lord what is your cause of distemper? you doe surely barre the doore upon your owne liberty, if you deny your griefes to your friend.

Ham.

Sir I lacke advancement.

Ros.

How can that be, when you have the voice of the King him­ selfe for your succession in Denmarke?

Enter the Players with Recorders.Ham.

I sir, but while the grasse growes; the proverbe is some­ thing musty: oh the Recorders, let me see one, to withdraw with you; why doe you goe about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toile?

Gu.

O my Lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmanerly

Ha.

I do not well understand that: will you play upon this pipe?

Guyl.

My Lord I cannot.

Ham.

I pray you.

Guyl.

Beleeve me I cannot.

Ham.

I beseech you.

Guyl.

I know no touch of it my Lord.

Ham.

It is as easie as lying; govern these ventages with your fin­ gers and the thumbe, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent musick: look you, these are the stops.

Guyl.

But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmo­ ny, I have not the skill.

Ham.

Why look you now how unworthy a thing you make of me, you would play upon me, you would seeme to know my stops, you would plucke out the heart of my mysterie, you would sound mee from my lowest note to my compasse, and there is much mu­ sicke, excellent voice in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speake, s'bloud do you think I am easier to be plaid on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you fret me not, you cannot play upon me. God blesse you sir.

Enter Polonius.Pol.My Lord the Queen would speak with you, and presently.Ha.Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?Pol.By'th masse and 'tis like a Camell indeed.Ham.Me thinkes it is like a Wezell.Pol.It is blacke like a Wezell.Ham.Prince of Denmarke.Ham.Or like a Whale.Pol.Very like a Whale.Ham.Then I will come to my mother by and by;They foole me to the top of my bent. I will come by and by,Leave me friends.I will, say so. By and by is easily said.'Tis now the very witching time of night,When Church‐yards yawne, and hell it selfe breathes outContagion to the world: now could I drinke hot blood,And doe such businesse as the bitter dayWould quake to looke on: soft, now to my mother,O heart lose not thy nature! let not everThe soule of Nero enter this firme bosome!Let me be cruell, not unnaturall.I will speake daggers to her, but use none,My tongue and soule in this be hypocrites;How in my words soever she be shent,To give them seales never my soule consent.Enter King, Rosencraus, and Guyldensterne.King.I like him not, nor stands it safe with usTo let his madnesse range; therefore prepare you,I your Commission will forthwith dispatch,And he to England shall along with you,The tearmes of our estate may not endureHazzard so neare us as doth hourely growOut of his browes.Guyl.We will our selves provide;Most holy and religious feare it isTo keepe those many many bodies safeThat live and feed upon your Majesty.Ros.The single and peculiar life is boundWith all the strength and armour of the mindTo keepe it selfe from noyance, but much moreThat spirit, upon whose weale depends and restsThe lives of many: the cesse of MajestyDyes not alone, but like a gulfe doth drawWhat's neare it with it: or it is a massie wheele,Fixt on the somnet of the highest mount,H2ToThe Tragedy of HamletTo whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser thingsAre morteist and adjoin'd, which when it falls,Each small annexment, pettie consequenceAttends the boistrous raine, never aloneDid the King sigh, but a generall grone.King.Arme you I pray you to this speedy voiage,For we will fetters put about this feareWhich now goes too free footed.Ros.We will make haste.Exeunt Gent.Enter Polonius.Pol.My Lord hee's going to his mothers closet,Behind the Arras Ile convay my selfeTo heare the processe, Ile warnt shee'l tax him home;And as you said, and wisely was it said,'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother,Since nature makes them partiall, should ore‐heareThe speech of vantage; fare you well my Liege,Ile call upon you ere you goe to bed,And tell you what I heare.Exit.King.Thankes deare my Lord.O my offence is ranke, it smels to heaven,It hath the primall eldest curse upon't;A brothers murder: pray can I not,Though inclination be as sharpe as will,My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent;And like a man to double businesse bound,I stand in pause where I shall first begin,And both neglect: what if this cursed handWere thicker than it selfe with brothers blood?Is there not raine enough in the sweet heavensTo wash it white as snow? whereto serves mercy,But to confront the visage of offence?And what's in prayer, but this twofold force,To be forestalled ere we come to fall,Or pardon being downe? then Ile looke up:My fault is past: but oh! what forme of prayerCan serve my turne? forgive me my foule murther?That cannot be, since I am still possestOfPrince of Denmarke.Of those affects for which I did the murther,My Crowne, mine owne ambition, and my Queene:May one be pardoned and retaine th'offence?In the corrupted currents of this worldOffences guided hand may shew by justice,And oft 'tis seene the wicked prize it selfeBuyes out the Law; but 'tis not so above,There is no shuffling, there the action lyesIn his true nature, and we our selves compeldEven to the teeth and forehead of our faultsTo give in evidence: what then? what rests?Try what repentance can; what can it not?Yet what can it when one cannot repent?O wretched state! O bosome blacke as death!O limed soule! that struggling to be free,Art more ingaged! helpe Angels, make assay,Bow stubborn knees, and hearts with strings of steeleBe soft as sinnewes of the new‐borne babe,All may be well.Enter Hamlet.Ham.Now might I do it, but now a is praying,And now Ile do't, and so a goes to heaven,And so am I reveng'd? that would be scann'd;A villaine kills my father, and for thatI his sole sonne doe this same villaine sendTo heaven:Why this is base and silly, — not revenge:A tooke my father grossely, full of bread,With all his crimes broad blowne, as flush as May,And how his audit stands who knowes save heaven?But in our circumstance and course of thought,'Tis heavie with him; and am I then reveng'dTo take him in the purging of his soule,When he is fit and seasoned for his passage?No,Up sword, and know thou a more horrid hent,When he is drunke, asleep, or in his rage,Or in th'incestuous pleasure of his bed,At game, a swearing, or about some actThatThe Tragedy of HamletThat has no rellish of salvation in't,Then trip him that his heele may kicke at heaven,And that his soule may be as damn'd and blackeAs hell whereto it goes: my mother stayes,This Physicke but prolongs thy sickly dayes.Exit.King.My words flye up, my thoughts remaine below,Words without thoughts never to heaven goe.Exit.Enter Gertrard and Polonius.Pol.A will come strait, looke you lay home to him,Tell him his prankes have bin too broad to beare with,And that your grace hath screen'd and stood betweeneMuch heat and him. Ile silence me even here,Pray you be round.Enter Hamlet.Ger.Ile warrant you, feare me not,Withdraw, I heare him comming.Ham.Now mother what's the matter?Ger.Hamlet thou hat thy father much offended.Ham.Mother you have my father much offended.Ger.Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.Ham.Goe, goe, you question with a wicked tongue.Ger.Why how now Hamlet?Ham.What's the matter now?Ger.Have you forgot me?Ham.No by the Rood not so,You are the Queene, your husbands brothers wife,And would it were not so, you are my mother.Ger.Nay then Ile set those to you that can speake.Ham.Come, come, and sit you downe, you shall not budge,You goe not till I set you up a glasseWhere you may see the most part of you.Ger.What wilt thou doe? thou wilt not murder me?Helpe ho.Pol.What hoe helpe.Ham.How now, a Rat, dead for a Ducket, dead,Pol.O I am slaine.Ger.O me, what hast thou done?Ham.Nay I know not, is it the King?Ger.O what a rash and bloody deed is this!Ham.Prince of Denmarke.Ham.A bloudy deed, almost as bad good motherAs kill a King, and marry with his brother.Ger.As kill a King?Ham.I Lady, it was my word.Thou wretched, rash, intruding foole farewell,I tooke thee for thy better, take thy fortune,Thou findest to be too busie is some danger.Leave wringing of your hands, peace, sit you downe,And let me wring your hearr, for so I shallIf it be made of penetrable stuffe,If damned custome have not braz'd it so,That it be proofe and bulwarke against sense.Ger.What have I done, that thou darest wagge thy tongueIn noise so rude against me?Ham.Such an actThat blurres the grace and blush of modesty,Calls vertue hypocrite, takes off the RoseFrom the faire forehead of an innocent love,And sets a blister there, makes marriage vowesAs false as Dicers oathes: Oh such a deedAs from the body of contraction pluckesThe very foule, and sweet Religion makesA rapsodie of words, heavens face does glowOre this solidity and compound masseWith heated visage, as against the doome,Is thought‐sicke at the act.Quee.Ay me, what act?Ha.That roares so loud, and thunders in the Index:Looke here upon this picture, and on this,The counterfeit presentment of two brothers;See what a grace was seated on his brow,Hiperions curles, the front of Jove himselfe,An eye like Mars, to threaten and command,A station like the Herald MercuryNew lighted on a heave, a kissing hill,A combination and forme indeedWhere every god did seeme to set his eale,To give the world assurance of a man.ThisThe Tragedy of HamletThis was your husband: look you now what follows,Here is your husband, like a mildew'd eare,Blasting his wholsome brother: have you eyes?Could you on this faire mountain leave to feed,And batten on this moore? ha! have you eyes?You cannot call it love, for at your ageThe heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble,And waits upon the judgement; and what judgmentWould step from this to this? sense sure you have,Else could you not have motion, but sure that senseIs apoplext, for madnesse would not erre,Nor sense to extasie was ne'er so thrall'd,But it reserv'd some quantity of choiceTo serve in such a difference: What divell was'tThat thus hath couzen'd you at hodman‐blind?Eies without feeling, feeling without sight,Eares without hands, or eyes, smelling sans all,Or but a sickly part of one true senseCould not so mope. Oh shame! where is thy blush?Rebellious hell,If thou canst mutine in a Matrons bonesTo flaming youth, let vertue be as waxeAnd melt in her owne fire, proclaime no shameWhen the compulsive ardure gives the charge,Since frost it selfe as actively doth burne,And reason pardons will.Ger.O Hamlet speake no more,Thou turn'st my very eyes into my soule,And there I see such blacke and grieved spotsAs will leave there their tinct.Ham.Nay but to liveIn the ranke sweat of an incestuous bed,Stew'd in corruption, honying and making loveOver the nasty stye.Ger.O speake to me no more,These words like daggers enter in mine eares,No more sweet Hamlet.Ham.A murtherer and a villaine,A slavePrince of Denmarke.A slave that is not twentieth part the kythOf your precedent Lord, a vice of Kings,A Cut‐purse of the Empire and the rule,That from a shelfe the precious diadem stole,And put it in his pocket.Enter Ghost.Ham.A King of shreds and patches.Save me and hover ore me with your wingsYou heavenly guards: what would your gracious figure?Ger.Alasse hee's mad.Ham.Doe you not come your tardie sonne to chideThat lap'st in time, and passion lets goe byTh'important acting of your dread command? O say!Ghost.Doe not forget: this visitationIs but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.But looke, amazement on thy mother sits;O step betweene her and her sighing soule!Conceit in weakest bodies ftrongest workes.Speake to her Hamlet.Ham.How is it with you Lady?Ger.Alasse how is't with you,That you doe bend your eye on vacancie,And with th'incorporall aire do hold discourse?Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peepe,And as the sleeping Souldiers in th'alarme,Your beaded haire like life in excrementsStarts up and stands an end: O gentle sonne!Upon the heat and flame of thy distemperSprinkle coole patience: whereon doe you looke?Ham.On him, on him, look you how pale he gleres,His forme and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stonesWould make them capable; doe not look upon me,Lest with this piteous action you convertMy fterne effects; then what I have to doeWill want true colour, teares perchance for blood.Ger.To whom doe you speake this?Ham.Doe you see nothing there?Ger.Nothing at all, yet all that is there I see.Ham.Nor did you nothing heare?IGer.The Tragedy of HamletGer.No nothing but our selves.Ham.Why looke you there, looke how it steales away,My father in his habit as he liv'd,Looke where he goes, even now out at the portall.Exit Ghost.Ger.This is the very coynage of your braine,This bodilesse creation extasie is very cunning in.Ham.My pulse as yours doth temperately keep time,And makes as healthfull musick: it is not madnesseThat I have uttred, bring me to the test,And I the matter will re‐word, which madnesseWould gambole from. Mother, for love of graceLay not this flattering unction to your soule,That not your trespasse but my madnesse speakes;It will but skin and filme the ulcerous place,Whiles ranke corruption mining all withinInfects unsene: confesse your selfe to heaven,Repent what's past, avoid what is to come,And doe not spread the compost on the weedsTo make them ranker: forgive me this my vertue,For in the fatnesse of these pursie timesVertue it selfe of vice must pardon begge,Yea courb and wooe for leave to doe him good.Ger.O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twaine.Ham.O throw away the worser part of it,And leave the purer with the other halfe.Goodnight, but goe not to my uncles bed,Assume a vertue if you have it not,That monster custome, who all sense doth eat,Of habits divell, is Angel yet in this,That to the use of actions faire and goodHe likewise gives a frocke or LiveryThat aptly is put on: refrain to night,And that shall lend a kinde of easinesseTo the next abstinence, the next more easie;For use almost can change the stampe of nature,And master the Divell, or throw him outWith wondrous potency: Once more good night,And when you are desirous to be blestIlePrince of Denmarke.Ile blessing beg of you: for this same LordI doe repent, but heaven hath pleas'd it so,To punish me with this, and this with me,That I must be their scourge and minister:I will bestow him, and will answer wellThe death I gave him; so againe good night.I must be cruell onely to be kinde,Thus bad begins, and worse remaines behind.One word more good Lady.Ger.What shall I doe?Ham.Not this by no meanes that I bid you doe,Let the blowt King tempt you to bed againe,Pinch wanton on your cheeke, call you his Mouse,And let him for a paire of reechy kisses,Or padling in your necke with his damn'd fingers,Make you to ravell all this matter out,That I esentially am not in madnesse,But mad in craft; 'twere good you let him know,For who that's but Queen, faire, sober, wise,Would from a paddocke, from a Bat, a Gib,Such deare concernings hide? who would doe so?No, in despight of sense and secrecieUnpeg the basket on the houses top,Let the birds flye, and like the famous Ape,To try conclusions in the basket creepe,And breake your owne necke downe.Ger.Be thou assur'd if words be made of breath,And breath of life, I have no life to breatheWhat thou hast said to me.Ham.I must to England, you know that.Ger.Alacke I had forgot,'Tis so concluded on.Ha.There's letters seal'd, & my two school‐fellows,Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,They beare the mandate, they must sweep my way,And marshall me to knavery; let it worke,For 'tis the sport, to have the EnginerHoist with his owne petar, an't shall goe hardI2ButThe Tragedy of HamletBut I will delve one yard below their Mines,And blow them at the Moone: O 'tis most sweetWhen in one line two crafts directly meet.This man shall set me packing,Ile lugge the guts into the neighbour roome.Mother good night indeed, this CounsellerIs now most still, most secret, and most grave,Who was in's life a most foolish prating knave.Come sir, to draw toward an end with you.Good night mother.Exit.Enter King and Queen, with Rosencrausand Guyldensterne.King.There's matter in these sighes, these profound heaves,You must translate, 'tis fit we understand them:Where is your sonne?Gert.Bestow this place on us a little while.Ah mine owne Lord, what have I seene to night?King.What Gertrard, how does Hamlet?Ger.Mad as the sea and wind when both contendWhich is the mightier in his lawlesse fit,Behind the Arras hearing something stir,Whips out his Rapier, cryes a Rat, a Rat,And in this brainish apprehension killsThe unseene good old man.King.O heavie deed!It had been so with us had we been there,His liberty is full of threats to all,To you your selfe, to us, to every one.Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answered?It will be laid to us, whose providenceShould have kept short, restrain'd, and out of hauntThis mad young man: but so much was our loveWe would not understand what was most fit,But like the owner of a foule disease,To keep it from divulging, let it feedEven on the pith of life: where is he gone?Gert.To draw apart the body he hath kill'd,Ore whom his very madnesse, like some OreAmongPrince of Denmarke.Among a minerall of metall base,Shewes it selfe pure, a weeps for what is done.King.Gertrard come away,The Sunne no sooner shall the mountaines touchBut we will ship him hence, and this vile deedWe must with all our Majestie and skillEnter Ros. & Guyld.Both countenance and excuse. Ho Guyldensterne,Friends both, goe joine with you some further aide,Hamlet in madnesse hath Polonius slaine,And from his mothers closet hath he drag'd him;Goe seeke him out, speake faire, and bring the bodyInto the Chappell; I pray you hast in this:Come Gertrard, wee'll call up our wisest friends,And let them know both what we meane to doe,And what's untimely done,Whose whisper ore the worlds Diameter,As levell as the Cannon to his blankeTransports his poysoned shot, may misse our name,And hit the woundlesse aire: O come away,My soule is full of discord and dismay.Exeunt.Enter Hamlet, Rosencraus, and others.Ha.Safely stow'd: but softly, what noise? who calls on Hamlet?O here they come.Ros.What have you done my Lord with the dead body?Ham.Compounded it with dust, whereto it is kin.Ros.Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence,And beare it to the Chappell:Ham.Doe not beleeve it.Ros.Beleeve what?Ham.

That I can keepe your counsell and not mine owne; be­ sides, to bee demanded of a spunge, what replication should bee made by the sonne of a King?

Ros.Take you me for a spunge my Lord?Ha.

I sir, that sokes up the Kings countenance, his rewards, his authorities: but such Officers doe the King bet service in the end, he keeps them like an apple in the corner of his jaw, first mouth'd to be last swallowed; when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeesing you, and spunge you shall be dry againe.

I3Ros.The Tragedy of HamletRos.I understand you not my Lord.Ham.I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a foolish eare.Ros.

My Lord you must tell us where the body is, and goe with us to the King.

Ham.

The body is with the King, but the King is not with the body: the King is a thing.

Guyl.

A thing my Lord?

Ham.

Of nothing, bring me to him.Exeunt.

Enter King and two or three.King.I have sent to seek him, and to find the body;How dangerous is it that this man goes loose?Yet must we not put the strong law on him,Hee's lov'd of the distracted multitude,Who like not in their judgement, but their eyes,And where 'tis so, th'offenders scourge is waigh'd,But never the offence: to beare all smooth and even,This sudden sending him away must seemeDeliberate pause; diseases desperate growneBy desperate appliance are reliev'd,Or not at all.Enter Rosencraus, and all the rest.King.How now? what hath befallen?Ros.Where the dead body is bestow'd my LordWe cannot get from him.King.But where is he?Ros.Without my Lord, guarded to know your pleasure.King.Bring him before us.Ros.Ho, bring in the Lord.They enter.King.Now Hamlet, where's Polonius?Ham.At supper.King.At supper? where?Ha.

Not where he eats, but where he is eaten, a certain convo­ cation of politick worms are een at him: your worme is your only Emperour for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us, and wee fat our selves for maggots; your fat King and your lean beggar is but variable service, two dishes but to one table, that's the end.

King.Alas, alas!Ham.

A man may fish with the worme that hath eat of a King, eatPrince of Denmarke. eat of the fish that hath fed of that worme.

King.What doest thou meane by this?Ham.

Nothing but to shew you how a King may goe a pro­ gresse through the guts of a beggar.

King.Where is Polonius?Ham.

In heaven, send thither to see, if your messenger find him not there, seeke him i'th other place your selfe: but indeed if you find him not within this moneth, you shall nose him as you go up the staires into the Lobby.

King.Goe seeke him there.Ham.

A will stay till you come.

King.Hamlet this deed for thine especiall safety,Which we doe tender, as we dearly grieveFor that which thou hast done, must send thee hence:Therefore prepare thy selfe,The Barke is ready, and the winde at helpe,Th'associates tend, and every thing is bentFor England.Ham.For England?King.I Hamlet.Ham.Good.King.So is it if thou knew'st our purposes.Ham.I see a Cherub that sees them: but come, for England:Farewell deare mother.King.Thy loving father Hamlet.Ham.My mother, father and mother is man and wife,Man and wife is one flesh, and so my mother.Come, for England.Exit.King.Follow him at foot,Tempt him with speed aboard,Delay it not, Ile have him hence to night:Away, for every thing is seal'd and doneThat else leanes on the affaire; pray you make haste:And England, if my love thou holdst at ought,As my great power thereof may give thee sense,Since yet thy cicatrice lookes raw and redAfter the Danish sword, and thy free awePaies homage to us, thou maist not coldly setOurThe Tragedy of HamletOur Soveraigne processe, which imports at fullBy letters congruing to that effectThe present death of Hamlet, doe it England,For like the Hecticke in my blood he rages,And thou must cure me: till I know 'tis done,How ere my haps, my joyes will nere begin.Exit.Enter Fortinbrasse with his Army over the Stage.Fortin.Goe Captaine, from me greet the Danish King,Tell him that by his licence FortinbrasseCraves the conveyance of a promis'd marchOver his kingdome; you know the rendezvous,If that his Majestie would ought with usWe shall expresse our duty in his eye,And let him know so.Cap.I will doe't my Lord.Fortin.Goe softly on.Enter Hamlet, Rosencraus, &c.Ham.Good sir whose powers are these?Cap.They are of Norway sir.Ham.How propos'd sir I pray you?Cap.Against some part of Poland.Ham.Who commands them sir?Cap.The Nephew of old Norway,Fortinbrasse.Ham.Goes it againft the maine of Poland sir,Or for some frontier?Cap.Truely to speake, and with no addition,We goe to gaine a little patch of groundThat hath in it no profit but the name,To pay five duckets, five I would not farme it,Nor will it yeeld to Norway or the PoleA ranker rate, should it be sold infee.Ham.Why then the Pollack never will defend it.Cap.Nay 'tis already garrisond.Ham.Two thousand soules and 20000. ducketsWill not debate the question of this straw;This is th'impostume of much wealth and peace,That inward breakes and shewes no cause withoutWhy the man dyes. I humbly thanke you sir.Cap.Prince of Denmarke.Cap.God buy your sir.Ros.Wil't please you goe my Lord?Ham.Ile be with you ftraight, goe a little before.How all occasions doe informe against me,And spur my dull revenge? What is a man,If his chiefe good and market of his timeBe but to sleepe and feed? a beast, no more.Sure he that made us with such large discourse,Looking before and after, gave us notThat capability and God‐like reasonTo fust in us unus'd: now whether it beBestiall oblivion, or some craven scrupleOf thinking too precisely on th' event,A thought which quarterd hath but one part wisdom,And ever three parts coward: I doe not knowWhy yet I live to say this thing's to doe,Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and meanesTo doe't: examples grosse as earth exhort me,Witnesse this army of such masse and charge,Led by a delicate and tender Prince,Whose spirit with divine ambition puftMakes mouthes at the invisible event,Exposing what is mortall and unsureTo all that fortune, death, and danger dare,Even for an egge‐shell. Rightly to be greatIs not to stir without great argument,But greatly to finde quarrell in a straw,When honour's at the stake. How stand I then,That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,Excitements of my reason and my blood,And let all sleep, while to my shame I seeThe imminent death of twenty thousand men,That for a fantasie and tricke of fameGoe to their graves like beds, fight for a plotWhereon the numbers cannot try the cause,Which is not tombe enough and continentTo hide the slaine? O from this time forth,My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.Exit.KEnterThe Tragedy of HamletEnter Horatio, Gertrard, and a Gentleman.Quee.I will not speake with her.Gent.She is importunate,Indeed distract, her mood will needs be pittied.Quee.What would she have?Gent.She speakes much of her father, sayes she hearesThere's trickes i'th world, and hems, and beats her heart,Spurnes enviously at strawes, speakes things in doubrThat carry but halfe sense, her speech is nothing,Yet the unshaped use of it doth moveThe hearers to collection, they yawne at it,And botch the words up fit to their owne thoughts,Which as winkes, and nods, and gestures yeeld them,Indeed would make one thinke there might be thought,Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.Hora.'Twere good she were spoken with, for she may strewDangerous conjectures in ill‐breeding minds.Let her come in.Enter Ophelia.Quee.“To my sicke soule, as sins true nature is,“Each toy seemes prologue to some great amise;“So full of artlesse jealousie is guilt,“It spills it selfe in fearing to be spilt.Ophel.Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmarke?Quee.How now Ophelia?She sings.Ophel.How should I your true love know from another one?By his cockle hat and staffe, and by his sendall shoone.Quee.Alas sweet Lady, what imports this song?Ophel.Say you, nay pray you marke.He is dead and gone Lady, he is dead and gone,Song.At his head a grasse‐greene turfe, at his heeles a stone.O ho.Quee.Nay but Ophelia.Oph.Pray you mark. White his shrowd as the mountain snow.Enter King.Quee.Alas, looke here my Lord.Ophel.Larded all with sweet flowers,Song.Which beweept to the ground did not goe,With true love showers.King.Prince of Denmarke.King.How doe you pretty Lady.Ophel.

Well, good dild you, they say the Owle was a Bakers daughter: Lord, we know what wee are, but know not what wee may be. God be at your table.

King.Conceit upon her father.Ophel.Pray let's have no words of this, but when they ask you what it meanes, say you this.To morrow is S. Valentines day,Song.All in the morning betime,And I a maid at your windowTo be your Valentine.Then up he rose, and dond his clothes, and dupt the chamber door,Let in the maid, that out a maide, never departed more.King.Pretty Ophelia.Ophel.Indeed, without an oath, Ile make an end on't.By gis and by Saint Charity, alacke and fie for shame,Young men will doe't if they come to't, by cocke they are to blame.Quoth she, before you tumbled me you promis'd me to wed.(He answers.) So should I a done, by yonder sunAnd thou hadst not come to my bed.King.How long hath she been thus?Oph.

I hope all will be well, we must be patient: but I cannot chuse but weep to think they would lay him i'th cold ground; my brother shall know of it, & so I thank you for your good counsell.

Come my coach, good night Ladies, good night,Sweet Ladies good night, good night.King.Follow her close, give her good watch I pray you.O this is the poyson of deep griefe, it springs all from her fathers death: and now behold O Gertrard, Gertrard,When sorrowes come they come not single spies,But in battalians: frst, her father slaine,Next, your sonne gone, and he most violent authorOf his owne just remove; the people muddied,Thicke and unwholsome in thoughts and whispersFor good Polonius death, & we have done but greenlyIn hugger mugger to interre him; poore OpheliaK2Divi­The Tragedy of HamletDivided from her selfe and her faire judgement,Without which we are but pictures, or meere beasts.Last, and as much containing as all these,Her brother is in secret come from France,Feeds on this wonder, keeps himselfe in clouds,And wants not buzzers to infect his eareWith pestilent speeches of his fathers death,Wherein necessity of matter beggerdWill nothing sticke our person to arraigneIn eare and eare: O my deare Gertrard, thisLike to a Murdring‐Peece in many placesGives me superfluous death.A noise within.Enter Messenger.King.Attend, where are my Swissers? let them guard the door,What is the matter?Messen.Save your selfe my Lord.The Ocean over‐peering of his listEates not the flats with more impetuous hasteThan young Laertes in a riotous headOre‐beares your Officers; the rabble call him Lord,And as the world were now but to begin,Antiquity forgot, custome not knowne,The ratifiers and props of every word,They cry chuse we Laertes to be King,Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds,Laertes shall be King, Laertes King.Que.How cheerfully on the false traile they cry,A noise within.O this is counter you false Danish dogges.Enter Laertes with others.King.The doores are broke.Laer.Where is this King? sirs stand you all without.All.No let's come in.Laer.I pray you give me leave.All.We will, we will.Laer.I thanke you, keep the doore. O thou vile KingGive me my father.Que.Calmely good Laertes.Laer.That drop of blood that's calme proclaimes me bastard,CriesPrince of Denmarke.Cries Cuckold to my father, brands the HarlotEven here between the chast unsmerched browOf my true mother.King.What is the cause LaertesThat thy rebellion lookes so Giant‐like?Let him goe Gertrard, doe not feare our person,There's such divinity doth hedge a King,That treason can but peepe to what it would,Acts little of his will: tell me LaertesWhy thou art thus incens't: let him goe Gertrard,Speake man.Laer.Where is my father?King.Dead.Quee.But not by him.King.Let him demand his fill.Laer.How came he dead? Ile not be jugled with:To hell allegeance, vowes to the blackest Divell,Conscience and grace to the profoundest pit,I dare damnation, to this point I stand,That both the worlds I give to negligence,Let come what comes, onely Ile be reveng'dMost throughly for my father.King.Who shall stay you?Laer.My will, not all the worlds:And for my meanes, Ile husband them so wellThey shall goe farre with little.King.Good Laertes, if you desire to know the certaintyOf your deare father, is't writ in your revenge,That soop‐stake, you will draw both friend and foe,Winner and loser?Laer.None but his enemies.King.Will you know them then?Laer.To his good friends thus wide Ile ope my armes,And like the kinde life‐rendring PelicanRepast them with my blood.King.Why now you speakeLike a good childe, and a true Gentleman.That I am guiltlesse of your fathers death,K3AndThe Tragedy of HamletAnd am most sensible in griefe for it,It shall as levell to your judgement peareAs day does to your eye.A noise within.Enter Ophelia.Laer.Let her come in.How now? what noise is that?O heat dry up my braines, teares seven times saltBurne out the sense and vertue of mine eye:By heaven thy madnesse shall be paid with waightTill our scale turne the beame. O Rose of May!Deare maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!O heavens! is't possible a young maids witsShould be as mortall as a poore mans life!Ophel.They bore him bare‐fac'd on the Beere,Song.And in his grave rain'd many a teare.Fare you well my Dove.Laer.Hadst thou thy wits, and didst perswade revengeIt could not move thus.Ophel.You must sing a downe, a downe,And you call him a downe a. O how the wheele becomes it,It is the false steward that stole his Masters daughter.Laer.This nothing's more than matter.Ophel.

There's Fennill for you, and Columbines, there's Rew for you, and here's some for mee, wee may call it herbe of Grace a Sundayes, you may weare your Rew with a difference; there's a Dasie: I would give you some Violets, but they witherd all when my father died; they say a made a good end.

For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.Laer.Thoughts and afflictions, passion, hell it selfeShe turnes to favour and to prettinesse.Ophel.And will a not come againe,Song.And will a not come againe,No, no, he is dead, goe to thy death bed,He never will come againe.His beard was as white as snow,FlaxenPrince of Denmarke.Flaxen was his pole,He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away moane,God a mercy on his soule, and all Christian soules.God buy you.Laer.Doe you this O God?King.Laertes I must commune with your griefe,Or you deny me right; goe but a part.Make choice of whom your wiset friends you will,And they shall heare and judge 'twixt you and me,If by direct or by collaterall handThey finde us toucht, we will our kingdome give,Our Crowne, our life, and all that we call oursTo you in satisfaction; but if not,Be you content to lend your patience to us,And we shall jointly labour with your souleTo give it due content.Laer.Let this be so.His meanes of death, his obscure funerall,No Trophey, sword, nor Hatchment ore his bones,No noble right, nor formall ostentationCry to be heard as 'twere from earth to heaven,That I must call't in question.King.So you shall,And where th'offence is let the great axe fall.I pray you goe with me.Exeunt.Enter Horatio and others.Hora.What are they that would speake with me?Gen.Sea‐faring men sir, they say they have Letters for you.Hora.Let them come in.I doe not know from what part of the worldI should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.Enter Saylers.Say.God blesse you sir.Hora.Let him blesse thee too.Say.

A shall sir an't please him. There's a letter for you sir, it came from the Embassadour that was bound for England, if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.

Hor.

Horatio, when thou shalt have over‐look't this, give these fellowes some meanes to the King, they have Letters for him. Ere weeThe Tragedy of Hamlet we were two dayes old at sea, a Pirat of very warlike appoint­ ment gave us chase. Finding our selves too slow of saile, we put on a compelled valour, and in the grapple I boarded them: in the in­ stant they got cleere of our ship, so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like theeves of mercy, but they knew what they did; I am to do a turne for them. Let the King have the Letters I have sent, and repaire thou to me with as much speed as thou wouldst flye death. I have words to speake in thine eare will make thee dumbe, yet are they much too light for the bord of the matter, these good‐fellowes will bring thee where I am, Rosen­ craus and Guyldensterne hold their course for England, of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell.

So that thou knowest thine, Hamlet.

Hora.Come, I will make you way for these your Letters,And doe't the speedier that you may direct meTo him from whom you brought them.Exeunt.Enter King and Laertes.King.Now must your conscience my acquittance seale,And you must put me in your heart for friend,Sith you have heard, and with a knowing eare,That he which hath your noble father slainePursued my life.Laer.It well appeares: but tell meWhy you proceed not against these featesSo criminall and capitall in nature,As by your safety, greatnesse, wisdome, all things else,You mainly were stirr'd up.King.O for two speciall reasons,Which may to you perhaps seem much unsinnow'd,But yet to me tha're strong: the Queen his motherLives almost by his lookes, and for my selfe,My vertue or my plague, be it either which,She is so conclive to my life and soule,That as the starre moves not but in his Sphere,I could not but by her: the other motiveWhy to a publike count I might not goe,Is the great love the generall gender beare him,WhoPrince of Denmarke.Who dipping all his faults in their affection,Worke like the Spring that turneth wood to stone,Convert his gyves to graces, so that my arrowesToo slightly timbered for so loved armes,Would have reverted to my bow againe,But not where I have aim'd them.Laer.And so I have a noble father lost,A sister driven into desperate tearmes,Whose worth, if praises may goe backe again,Stood challenger on mount of all the ageFor her perfections: but my revenge will come.King.Breake not your sleeps for that, you must not thinkeThat we are made of stuffe so flat and dull,That we can let our beards be shooke with danger,And thinke it pastime: you shortly shall heare more.I lov'd your father, and we love our selfe,And that I hope will teach you to imagine.Enter a Messenger with Letters.Mess.These to your Majesty, this to the Queen.King.From Hamlet? who brought them?MessSailers my Lord they say, I saw them not,They were given me by Claudio, he received themOf him that brought them.King.Laertes you shall heare them: leave us.

High and mighty, you shall know I am set naked on your King­ dome: to morrow shall I beg leave to see your Kingly eyes, when I shall (first asking you pardon) thereunto recount the occasion of my sudden returne.

King.What should this meane? are all the rest come backe?Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?Laer.Know you the hand?King.'Tis Hamlets character. Naked!And in a post‐script here he saies alone,Can you devise me?Laer.I am lost in it my Lord; but let him come,It warmes the very sicknesse in my heart,That I live, and tell him to his teeth,Thus didst thou.LKing.The Tragedy of HamletKing.If it be so Laertes,As how should it be so, how otherwise,Will you be rul'd by me?Laer.I my Lord, so you will not ore‐rule me to a peace.King.To thine own peace: if he be now returnedAs liking not his voyage, and that he meanesNo more to undertake it, I will worke himTo an exploit now ripe in my device,Under the which he shall not chse but fall,And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe,But even his mother shall uncharge the practice,And call it accident.Laer.My Lord I will be rul'd,The rather if you could devise it soThat I might be the organ.KingIt falls right:You have bin talkt of since your travell much,And that in Hamlets hearing, for a qualityWherein they say you shine; your summe of partsDid not together plucke such envie from himAs did that one, and that in my regardOf the unworthiest siege.Laer.What part is that my Lord?King.A very riband in the cap of youth,Yet needfull too, for youth no lesse becomesThe light and carelesse livery that it weares,Than setled age his sables, and his weeds,Importing health and gravenesse: two months sinceHere was a Gntleman of Normandy,I have seene my selfe, and serv'd against the French,And they can well on horse‐backe; but this GallantHad witch‐craft in't, he grew unto his seat,And to such wondrous doing brought his horseAs he had bin incorp'st and demi‐natur'dWith the brave beast; so farre he topt my thought,That I in forgery of shapes and trickesCome short of what he did.Laer.A Norman was't?King.Prince of Denmarke.King.A Norman.Laer.Upon my life Lamord.King.The very same.Laer.I know him well, he is the brooch indeedAnd gemme of all the Nation.King.He made confession of you,And gave you such a masterly reportFor art and exercise in your defence,And for your Rapier most especiall,That he cry'd out, 'twould be a sight indeedIf one could match you; the Scrimers of their nationHe swore had neither motion, guard, nor eyeIf you oppos'd them: sir this report of hisDid Hamlet so envenome with his envie,That he could nothing doe, but wish and beggeYour sudden comming ore to play with you.Now out of this.Laer.What out of this my Lord?King.Laertes, was your father deare to you?Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,A face without a heart?Laer.Why aske you this?King.Not that I think you did not love your father,But that I know love is begun by time,And that I see in passages of proofe,Time qualifies the sparke and fire of it;There lives within the very flame of loveA kinde of wieke or snuffe that will abate it,And nothing is at a like goodnesse still;For goodnesse growing to a pleurisie,Dies in his owne too much, that we would doe,We should doe when we would: for this Would changes,And hath abatements and delayes as manyAs there are tongues, are hands, are accidents,And then this Should is like a spend‐thrift sigh,That hurts by easing: but to the quicke of th'ulcer,Hamlet comes backe, what would you undertakeTo shew your selfe indeed your fathers sonneL2MoreThe Tragedy of HamletMore than in words?Laer.To cut his throat i'th Church.King.No place indeed should murder sanctuarize,Revenge should have no bounds: but good LaertesWill you doe this? keep close within your chamber,Hamlet return'd shall know you are come home,Wee'll put on those shall praise your excellence,And set a double varnish on the sameThe Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine together,And wager ore your heads; he being remisse,Most generous, and free from all contriving,Will not peruse the foiles, so that with ease,Or with a little shuffling, you may chuseA sword unbated, and in a pace of practiceRequite him for your father.Laer.I will doe't;And for the purpose Ile annoint my sword:I bought an unction of a MountebankeSo mortall, that but dip a knife in it,Where it drawes blood, no Cataplasme so rareCollected from all Simples that have vertueUnder the Moone, can save the thing from deathThat is but scratcht withall; Ile touch my pointWith this contagion, that if I gall him sleightly it may be death.King.Let's further thinke of this,Weigh what conveiance both of time and meanesMay fit us to our shape if this should faile,And that our drift look through our bad performance'Twere better not assay'd. Therefore this projectShould have a backe or second, that might holdIf this did blast in proofe: soft, let me see,Wee'll make a solemne wager on your cunnings,I hav't, when in your motion you are hot and dry,As make your bouts more violent to that end,And that he calls for drinke, Ile have prefer'd himA Chalice for the nonce, whereon but sipping,If he by chance escape your venom'd tucke,Our purpose may hold there. But stay, what noise?EnterPrince of Denmarke.Enter Queene.Quee.One woe doth tread upon anothers heele,So fast they follow: your sister's drown'd Laertes.Laer.Drown'd! O where?Quee.There is a willow growes ascaunt the brook,That shewes his hoarie leaves in the glassie ftreame,Therewith fantasticke garlands did she makeOf Crow‐flowers, Nettles, Dasies, and long Purples,That liberall shepheards give a grosser name,But our culcold maids do dead mens fingers call thēthem,There on the pendant boughes her Coronet weedsClambring to hang, an envious shiver broke,When downe her weedy tropheys and her selfeFell in the weeping brooke, her clothes spred wide,And Mermaid‐like a while they bore her up,Which time she chanted snatches of old lauds,As one incapable of her owne distresse,Or like a creature native and induedUnto that element, but long it could not beTill that her garments heavie with their drinkePuld the poore wench from her melodious layTo muddy death.Laer.Alasse then is she drown'd?Quee.Drown'd, drown'd.Laer.Too much of water hast thou poore Ophelia,And therefore I forbid my teares; but yetIt is our tricke, nature her custome holds,Let shame say what it will; when these are goneThe woman will be out. Adieu my Lord,I have a speech afire that faine would blase,But that this folly drownes it.Exit.King.Let's follow Gertrard;How much I had to doe to calme his rage!Now feare I this will give it start againe,Therefore let's follow.Exeunt.Enter two Clownes.Clow.

Is she to be buried in Christian buriall, when she wilful­ ly seekes her owne salvation?

L3Othe.The Tragedy of HamletOthe.

I tell thee shee is, therefore make her grave straight, thCrowner hath sate on her, and finds it Christian buriall.

Clow.

How can that be, unlesse he drown'd her selfe in her own defence?

Oth.

Why 'tis found so.

Clow.

It must be so offended, it cannot be else; for here lies the point, if I drowne my selfe wittingly it argues an act, and an act hath three branches, it is to act, to doe, to performe, or all; shee drown'd her selfe wittingly.

Oth.

Nay but heare you goodman delver.

Clow.

Give me leave, here lyes the water, good, here stands the man, good, if the man goe to this water and drowne himselfe, it is will he nill he; he goes, marke you that: but if the water come to him and drowne him, he drownes not himselfe; argall hee that is not guilty of his owne death shortens not his owne life.

Oth.

But is this law?

Clow.

I marry is't, Crowners quest law.

Oth.

Will you ha the truth ant't, if this had not been a Gentle­ woman she should have bin buried out a Christian buriall.

Clow.

Why there thou saist, and the more pitty that great folke should have countenance in this world to drowne or hang them­ selves, more than their even Christen: Come my spade, there is no ancient Gentlemen but Gardeners, Ditchers, and Grave‐makers, they hold up Adams profession.

Oth.

Was he a Gentleman?

Clow.

A was the first that ever bore armes.

Ile put another question to thee, if thou answerest mee not to the purpose, confesse thy selfe.

Oth.

Goe to.

Clow.

What is hee that builds stronger than either the Mason, the Shipwright, or the Carpenter?

Oth.

The gallowes‐maker, for that out‐lives a thousand tenants.

Clo.

I like thy wit well in good faith, the gallowes does well, but how does it well? it does well to those that do ill, now thou doest ill to say the gallowes is built tronger than the Church, argall the gallowes may doe well to thee. To't againe, come.

Oth.

Who builds stronger than a Mason, a Shipwright, or a Carpenter?

Clow.Prince of Denmarke.Clow.

I, tell me that and unyoke.

Oth.

Marry now I can tell.

Clow.

To't.

Othe.

Masse I cannot tell.

Clow.

Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull asse wil not mend his pace with beating, & when you are askt this questiōquestionnext, say a grave‐maker, the houses he makes last till Doomesday. Goe get thee in, and fetch me a soope of liquor.

In youth when I did love did love,Song.Me thought it was very sweetTo contract O the time for a my behove,O me thought there a was nothing a meet.Enter Hamlet and Horatio.Ham.

Has this fellow no feeling of his businesse? a sings in grave‐making.

Hor.

Custome hath made it in him a property of easinesse.

Ha.

'Tis een so, the hand of little emploiment hath the daintier (sense.

Clow.But age with his stealing stepsSong.hath clawed me in his clutch, And hath shipped me into the land, as if I had never bin such.Ham.

That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once, how the knave jowles it to the ground, as if 'twere Cains jaw‐bone, that did the first murther: this might be the pate of a Polititian which this asse now ore‐reaches, one that would circumvent God, might it not?

Hora.

It might my Lord.

Ham.

Or of a Courtier, which could say, Good morrow my Lord, how doest thou sweet Lord? This might be my Lord such a one, that praised my Lord such a ones horse when a meant to beg it, might it not?

Hora.

I my Lord.

Ha.

Why een so, and now my Lady worms Choples, and knockt about the mazer with a Sextens spade; here's fine revolution and we had the tricke to see't, did these bones cost no more the bree­ ding but to play at loggits with them? mine ake to think on't.

Clow.A pickax and a spade a spade, for and a shrowding sheet,OThe Tragedy of HamletO a pit of clay for to be madefor such a guest is meet.Ha.

There's another, why may not that be the skull of a Lawier? where be his quiddities now, his quillities, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why does he suffer this mad knave now to knocke him about the sconce with a dirty shovell, and will not tell him of his actions of battery? hum: this fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognisances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt: will vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases and dou­ bles, than the length and bredth of a paire of Indentures? the ve­ ry conveiances of his land will scarcely lye in this boxe, and mut th'inheritor himselfe have no more? ha?

Hora.

Not a jot more my Lord.

Ham.

Is not parchment made of sheep‐skins?

Hor.

I my Lord, and of calve‐skins too.

Ham.

They are sheep and calves which seeke out assurance in that. I will speake to this fellow: Whose grave's this sirrah?

Clow.

Mine sir, or a pit of clay for to be made.

Ham.

I thinke it's thine indeed, for thou lyest in't.

Clow.

You lye out on't sir, and therefore 'tis not yours: for my part I doe not lye in't, yet it is mine.

Ham.

Thou dost lye in't, to be in't and say it is thine, 'tis for the dead, not for the quicke, therefore thou lyest.

Clow.

'Tis a quicke lye sir, 'twill againe from me to you.

Ham.

What man doest thou digge it for?

Clow.

For no man sir.

Ham.

What woman then?

Clow.

For none neither.

Ham.

Who is to be buried in't?

Clow.

One that was a woman sir, but rest her soule, shee's dead.

Ham.

How absolute the knave is, we must speake by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord Horatio this 3. yeeres I have took note of it, the age is grown so picked, that the toe of the pesant comes so neere the heele of the Courtier, he galls his kibe.

How long hast thou been a Grave‐maker?

Clow.

Of the dayes i'th yeare I came to't that day that our last King Hamlet overcame Fortinbrasse.

Ham.Prince of Denmarke.Ham.

How long is that since?

Clo.

Cannot you tell that? every foole can tell that; it was that very day that young Hamlet was borne, hee that is mad and sent into England.

Ham.

I marry, why was he sent into England?

Clow.

Why? because a was mad, a shall recover his wits there, or if a doe not 'tis no great matter there.

Faith if a be not rotten before he dye, as wee have many pocky coarses that will scarce hold the laying in, a will last you some eight yeere, or nine yeere; a Tanner will last you nine yeere.

Ham.

Why he more than another?

Clow.

Why sir his hide is so tan'd with his trade, that a will keep out water a great while, and your water is a sore decayer of your whorson dead body: here's a skull now hath lyen you i'th earth (23. yeares.

Ham.

Whose was it?

Clo.

A whorson mad fellows it was, whose do you think it was?

Ham.

Nay I know not.

Clow.

A pestilence on him for a mad rogue, a pour'd a flaggon of Rhenish on my head once; this same skull sir, was sir Yorickesskull the Kings Jester.

Ham.

This?

Clow.

Een that.

Ha.

Alas poor Yoricke, I knew him Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy, he hath bore me on his backe a thou­ sand times, and now how abhorred in my imagination it is? my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kist I know not how oft: where bee your jibes now, your gamboles, your songs, your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a Mroare?The Tragedy of Hamlet roare? not one now to mock your own grinning? quite chopfaln?

Now get you to my Ladies table, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. Prethee Horatio tell me one thing.

Hora.

What's that my Lord?

Ha.

Dost thou think Alexander lookt a this fashion i'th earth?

Hora.

Een so.

Ham.

And smelt so? pah.

Hora.

Een so my Lord.

Ham.

To what base uses we may returne Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander till a finde it stopping a bung‐hole.

Hora.

'Twere to consider too curiously to consider so.

Ha.

No faith not a jot, but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it. Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to dust, the dust is earth, of earth we make lome, & why of that lome whereto he was converted might they not stop a Beere‐barrell?

Imperious Cæsar dead and turn'd to clayMight stop a hole to keepe the wind away.O that that earth which kept the world in awe,Should patch a wall t'expell the waters flaw!But soft, but soft a while, here comes the King,Enter King, Que. Laertesand the corse.The Queen, the Courtiers: who is this they follow,And with such maimed rites? this doth betoken,The coarse they follow did with desperate handFordoe its owne life; 'twas of some estate:Couch we a while and marke.Laer.What Ceremony else?Ham.That is Laertes, a very noble youth.Laer.What Ceremony else?Doct.Her obsequies have bin as far inlarg'dAs we have warranty; her death was doubtfull,And but that great command ore‐swayes the order,She should in ground unsanctified bin lodg'dTill the last trumpet: for charitable prayers,Flints and pebbles should be throwne on her,Yet here she is allow'd her virgin rites,HerPrince of Denmarke.Her maiden strewments, and the bringing homeOf bell and buriall.Laer.Must there no more be done?Doct.No more be done:We should profane the service of the dead,To sing a Requiem and such rest to herAs to peace‐parted soules.Laer.Lay her i'th earth,And from her faire and unpolluted fleshMay violets spring: I tell thee churlish PriestA ministring Angel shall my sister beWhen thou lyest howling.Ham.What? the faire Ophelia?Quee.Sweets to the sweet, farewell,I hop't thou shouldst have bin my Hamlets wife,I thought thy bride‐bed to have deckt sweet maid,And not have strew'd thy grave.Laer.O treble woe!Fall ten times double on that cursed head,Whose wicked deed thy most ingenuous senseDeprived thee of: hold off the earth a while,Till I have caught her once more in mine armes.Now pile your dust upon the quicke and dead,Till of this flat a mountaine you have madeT'oretop old Pelion, or the skyish headOf blew Olympus.Ham.What is he whose griefeBeares such an emphasis, whose phrase of sorrowConjures the wandring stars, and makes them ftandLike wonder‐wounded hearers? 'tis I,Hamlet the Dane.Laer.The Divell take thy soule.Ham.Thou pray'st not well; I prethee take thy fingers from (my throat,For though I am not spleenative and rash,Yet have I in me something dangerous,Which let thy wisedome feare; hold off thy hand.King.Plucke them asunder.Quee.Hamlet, Hamlet.M2All.The Tragedy of HamletAll.Gentlemen.Hora.Good my Lord be quiet.Ham.Why I will fight with him upon this theamUntill my eye‐lids will no longer wagge.Quee.O my sonne, what theame?Ham.I lov'd Ophelia, forty thousand brothersCould not with all their quantity of loveMake up my sum: What wilt thou doe for her?King.O he is mad Laertes.Quee.For love of God forbeare him.Ham.Swounds shew me what thou't doe,Woo't weep, woo't fight, woo't fast, woo't teare thy (selfe,Woo't drink up Esill, eat a Crocodile?Ile doe't: doest thou come here to whine?To out‐face me with leaping in her grave?Be buried quicke with her, and so will I;And if thou prate of mountaines, let them throwMillions of acres on us, till our groundCindging his pate against the burning Zone,Make Ossa like a wart; nay and thou'lt mouthIle rant as well as thou.Quee.This is meere madnesse,And thus a while the fit will worke on him;Anon as patient as a female Doe,When that her golden cuplets are disclos'd,His silence will sit drooping.Ham.Heare you sir,What is the rea son that you use me thus?I lov'd you well, but it is no matter,Let Hercules himselfe doe what he mayThe Cat will mew, a Dogge will have his day.Exit Hamlet& Horatio.King.I pray thee good Horatio wait upon him.Strengthen your patience in our laft nights speech,Wee'll put the matter to the present push.Good Gertrard set some watch over your sonne,This Grave shall have a living monument,An houre of quiet thereby shall we see,Till then in patience our proceeding be.Exeunt.EnterPrince of Denmarke.Enter Hamlet and Horatio.Ha.So much for this sir, now shall you see the other:You doe remember all the circumstance.Hor.Remember it my Lord?Ham.Sir in my heart there was a kind of fightingThat would not let me sleep, me thought I layWorse than the mutines in the Bilbo's, rashly,And prais'd be rashnesse for it; let us knowOur indiscretion sometimes serves us wellWhen our deep plots do fall, & that should learn us,There's a divinity that shapes our ends,Rough hew them how we will.Hora.That is most certaine.Ham.Up from my Cabbin,My sea‐gowne scarft about me, in the darkeGrop't I to find out them, had my desire,Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrewTo mine owne roome againe, making so bold(My feares forgetting manners) to unfoldTheir grand Commission, where I found, Horatio,A royall knavery, an exact command,Larded with many severall sorts of reasons,Importing Denmarks health, and Englands too,With hoe such Bugs and Goblins in my life,That on the supervise, no leisure bated,No not to stay the grinding of the axe,My head should be strooke off.Hora.Is't possible?Ha.Here's the Commission, read it at more leisureBut wilt thou heare now how I did proceed?Hora.I beseech you.Ham.Being thus be‐netted round with villaines,Or I could make a Prologue to my brainesThey had begun the Play: I sate me downe,Devis'd a new Commission, wrote it faire:I once did hold it, as our Statists doe,A basenesse to write faire, and labour'd muchHow to forget that learning; but sir nowM3ItThe Tragedy of HamletIt did me yeomans service; wilt thou knowTh'effect of what I wrote?Hora.I good my Lord.Ham.An earnest conjuration from the King,As England was his faithfull tributary,As love between them like the Palme might flourish,As peace should still her wheaten garland weare,And stand a Comma 'tweene their amities,And many such like, as sir of great charge,That on the view and knowing of these contents,Without debatement further more or lesseHe should those bearers put to sudden death,Not shriving time allow'd.Hora.How was this seal'd?Ham.Why even in that was heaven ordinant:I had my fathers signet in my purse,Which was the modell of that Danish seale,Folded the writ up in the forme of th'other,Subscrib'd it, gave't thimpression, plac'd it safely,The changling never known; now the next dayWas our sea‐fight, and what to this was sequentThou know't already.Hor.So Guyldenstern and Rosencraus go to't.Ha.They are not neare my conscience, their defeatDoes by their owne insinuation grow;'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comesBetween the passe and fell incensed pointsOf mighty opposites.Hor.Why what a King is this!Ham.Does it not, think you, stand me now upon?He that hath kill'd my King, and whor'd my mother,Popt in between th'election and my hopes,Throwne out his angle for my proper life,And with such cosenage, is't not perfect conscience?Enter a Courtier.Cour.Your Lordship is right welcome backe to Denmarke.Ham.I humbly thanke you sir.Doest know this Water‐flye?Hora.Prince of Denmarke.Hora.No my good Lord.Ham.

Thy state is the more gracious, for 'tis a vice to know him; he hath much land and fertill, let a beast be Lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the Kings messe; 'tis a chough, but as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt.

Cour.

Sweet Lord, if your Lordship were at leisure I should im­ part a thing to you from his Majesty.

Ham.

I will receive it sir with all diligence of spirit; your bon­ net to his right use, 'tis for the head.

Cour.

I thank your Lordship, 'tis very hot.

Ham.

No beleeve me 'tis very cold, the wind is Northerly.

Cour.

It is indifferent cold my Lord indeed.

Ham.

But yet me thinks it is very soultry and hot, for my com­ plexion.

Cour.

Exceedingly my Lord, it is very soultry, as 'twere I can­ not tell how: my Lord, his Majesty bad me signifie unto you, that a has laid a great wager on your head, sir this is the matter.

Ham.

I beseech you remember.

Cour.

Nay good my Lord, for my ease in good faith. Sir here is newly come to Court Laertes, beleeve mee an absolute Gentle­ man, full of most excellent differences, of very soft society, and great shewing: indeed, to speake feelingly of him, he is the Card or Kalendar of Gentry, for you shall finde in him the continent of what part a Gentleman would see.

Ham.

Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you, though I know to divide him inventorially, would dizzie th'arithmetick of memory, and yet but raw neither in respect of his quicke saile; but in the verity of extolment, I take him to be soule of a great ar­ ticle, and his infusion of such dearth and rarenesse, as to make true diction of him, his semblable is his mirrour, and who else would trace him, his umbrage, nothing more.

Cour.

Your Lordship speakes most infallibly of him.

Ham.

The concernancy sir, why do we wrap the Gentleman in our more rawer breath?

Cour.

Sir.

Hora.

Is't not possible to understand in another tongue, you will doe't sir really.

Ham.

What imports the nomination of this Gentleman?

Cour.The Tragedy of HamletCour.

Of Laertes?

Hora.

His purse is empty already, all's golden words are spent.

Ham.

Of him sir.

Cour.

I know you are not ignorant.

Ham.

I would you did sir; yet in faith if you did it would not much approve me: well sir.

Cour.

You are ignorant of what excellence Laertes is.

Ham.

I dare not confesse that, lest I should compare with him in excellence; but to know a man well were to know himselfe.

Cour.

I meane sir for his weapon, but in the imputation laid on him by them in his meed hee's unfellowed.

Ham.

What's his weapon?

Cour.

Rapier and dagger.

Ham.

That's two of his weapons; but well.

Cour.

The King sir hath wager'd with him sixe Barbery horses, against the which he has impawn'd as I take it six French Rapiers and Poniards, with their assignes, as girdle, hanger, and so: three of the carriages in faith are very deare to fancy, very responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages, and of very liberall conceit.

Ham.

What call you the carriages?

Hora.

I knew you must be edified by the margin ere you had done.

Cour.

The carriages sir are the hangers.

Ham.

The phrase would be more german to the matter if wee could carry a cannon by our sides, I would it might be hangers till then: but on, sixe Barbary horses against sixe French swords, their assignes, and three liberall conceited carriages, that's the Frenchbet against the Danish, why is this all you call it?

Cour.

The King sir, hath laid sir, that in a dozen passes betweene your selfe and him he shall not exceed you three hits, he hath laid on twelve for nine, and it would come to immediate triall, if your Lordship would vouchsafe the anwer.

Ham.

How if I answer no?

Cour.

I meane my Lord the opposition of your person in triall.

Ham.

Sir I will walke here in the hall, if it please his Majestie, it is the breathing time of day with me, let the foiles be brought, the Gentleman willing, and the King hold his purpose, I will win for him and I can; if not, I will gaine nothing but my shame and the odde hits.

Cour.Prince of Denmarke.Cour.

Shall I deliver you so?

Ham.

To this effect sir, after what flourish your nature will.

Cour.

I commend my duty to your Lordship.

Ham.

Yours does well to commend it himselfe, there are no tongues else for his turne.

Hora.

This Lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.

Ham.

A did so sir with his dugge before a suckt it; thus has he & many more of the same breed that I know, the drossie age dotes on, onely got the tune of the time, and out of an habit of incoun­ ter, a kinde of misty collection, which carries them through and through the most profane and trennowned opinions; and doe but blow them to their triall, the bubbles are out.

Enter a Lord.Lord.

My Lord, his Majestie commended him to you by young Ostricke, who brings back to him that you attend him in the hall, he sends to know if your pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you will take longer time?

Ham.

I am constant to my purposes, they follow the Kings pleasure; if his fitnesse speaks, mine is ready, now or whensoever, provided I be so able as now.

Lord.

The King and Queen and all are comming downe.

Ham.

In happy time.

Lord.

The Queen desires you to use some gentle entertainment to Laertes before you goe to play.

Ham.

She well instructs me.

Hor.

You will lose my Lord.

Ham.

I doe not thinke so, since he went into France I have bin in continuall practice; I shall win at the oddes: thou wouldst not think how ill all's here about my heart, but it is no matter.

Hora.

Nay good my Lord.

Ham.

It is but foolery, but it is such a kind of game‐giving as would perhaps trouble a woman.

Hora.

If your mind dislike any thing obey it, I shall forestall their repaire hither, and say you are not fit.

Ham.

Not a whit, we defie Augury, there is a speciall providence in the fall of a Sparrow: if it be, 'tis not to come, if it bee not to come, it will be now, if it be not now, yet it will come, the readi­ nese is all, since no man of ought he leaves knowes what is't to NleaveThe Tragedy of Hamlet leave betimes, let be.

A table prepared, Drums, Trumpets, and Officers with cushions, King, Queen, and all the state, foiles, daggers, and Laertes.King.Come Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.Ham.Give me your pardon sir, I have done you wrong,But pardon't as you are a Gentleman: this presence knowes,And you must needs have heard how I am punishtWith a sore distraction; what I have doneThat might your nature, honour, and exceptionRoughly awake, I here proclaime was madnesse.Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? never Hamlet;If Hamlet from himselfe be tane away,And when hee's not himselfe does wrong Laertes,Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it:Who does it then? his madnesse: if't be so,Hamlet is of the faction that is wronged,His madnesse is poore Hamlets enemy;Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evillFree me so farre in your most generous thoughts,That I have shot my arrow ore the house,And hurt my brother.Laer.I am satisfied in nature,Whose motive in this case should ftirre me mostTo my revenge, but in my tearmes of honourI stand aloofe, and will no reconcilement,Till by some elder Masters of knowne honourI have a voice and president of peaceTo my name ungor'd: but all that timeI doe receive your offered love like love,And will not wrong it.Ha.I embrace it freely, and will this brothers wager frankly play.Give us the foiles.Laer.Come, one for me.Ham.Ile be your foile Laertes, in mine ignoranceYour skill shall like a starre i'th darkest nightSticke fiery off indeed.Laer.You mocke me sir.Ham.Prince of Denmarke.Ham.No by this hand.Kin.Give them the foi ls young Osrick: cosin Ham­ (let,You know the wager.Ham.Very well my Lord:Your Grace has laid the oddes a'th weaker side.King.I doe not feare it, I have seen you both,But since he is better we have therefore oddes.Laer.This is too heavie, let me see another.Ha.This likes me wel, these foils have all a lengthOstr.I my good Lord.King.Set me the stoops of wine upon the table;If Hamlet give the first or second hit,Or quit in answer of the third exchange,Let all the battlements their Ordnance fire;The King shall drink to Hamlets better breath,And in the cup an Onyx shall he throwRicher than that which foure successive KingsIn Denmarks Crown have worn. Give me the cups,And let the Kettle to the Trumpet speake,The Trumpet to the Canoneer without,The Cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth.Now the King drinkes to Hamlet: come begin,Trumpets the while.And you the Judges beare a warie eye.Ham.Come on sir.Laer.Come my Lord.Ham.One.Laer.No.Ham.Judgement.Ostr.A hit, a very palbable hit.Drum, Trumpets, and shot, Flourish, a Peece goes off.Laer.Well, againe.King.Stay, give me drinke, Hamlet this pearle is thine,Here's to thy health: give him the cup.Ham.Ile play this bout first, set it by a while.Come, another hit, what say you?Laer.I doe confest.King.Our sonne shall win.Quee.Hee's fat and scant of breath.Here Hamlet, take my napkin, wipe thy browes:N2TheThe Tragedy of HamletThe Queen carowses to thy fortune Hamlet.Ham.Good Madam.King.Gertrard doe not drinke.Quee.I will my Lord, I pray you pardon me.King.It is the poysoned cup, it is too late.Ham.I dare not drinke yet Madam, by and by.Quee.Come, let me wipe thy face.Laer.My Lord Ile hit him now.King.I doe not think't.Laer.And yet it is almost against my conscience.Ham.Come, for the third Laertes, you doe but dally,I pray you passe with your best violence,I am sure you make a wanton of me.Laer.Say you so? come on.Ostr.Nothing neither way.Laer.Have at you now.King.Part them, they are incens't.Ham.Nay come againe.Ostr.Looke to the Queen there ho.Hora.They bleed on both sides, how is't my Lord?Ostr.How is't Laertes?Lae.Why as a woodcock to mine own sprindge Ostricke,I am justly kill'd with mine owne treachery.Ham.How does the Queene?King.She swounes to see them bleed.Que.No, no, the drink, the drink, O my deare Hamlet,The drinke, the drinke, I am poysoned.HamO villaine! ho let the doore be lockt,Treachery, seeke it out.Laer.It is here Hamlet; thou art slaine,No medicine in the world can doe thee good,In thee there is not halfe an houres life,The treacherous instrument is in thy hand,Unbated and envenom'd, the foule practiceHath turn'd it selfe on me; lo here I lyeNever to rise againe: thy mother's poyson'd,I am no more, the King, the King's to blame.Ha.The point envenom'd too, then venom to thy work.All.Prince of Denmarke.All.Treason, treason.King.O yet defend me friends, I am but hurt.Ham.Here thou incestuous damned Dane,Drinke off this potion: is the Onyx here?Follow my mother.Lae.He is justly serv'd, it is a poyson temper'd by him­ (selfe.Exchange forgivenesse with me noble Hamlet,Mine and my fathers death come not upon thee,Nor thine on me.Ham.Heaven make thee free of it, I follow thee:I am dead Horatio, wretched Queen adieu.You that looke pale and tremble at this chance,That are but mutes or audience to this act,Had I but time (as this fell Sergeant deathIs strict in his arrest) O I could tell you;But let it be: Horatio I am dead,Thou livest, report me and my cause arightTo the unsatisfied.Hora.Never beleeve it,I am more an antique Roman than a Dane,Here's yet some liquor left.Ham.As th'art a manGive me the cup, let goe, by heaven Ile hav't:O God Horatio what a wounded name,Things standing thus unknown, shall I leave behind me?If thou didst ever hold me in thy heartAbsent thee from felicity a while,And in this harsh world draw thy breath in paineA march a farre off.To tell my story: what warlike noise is this?Enter Osricke.Osr.Young Fortinbrasse with conquest come from PolandTh'Embassadors of England gives this warlike volly.Ham.O I dye Horatio,The potent poyson quite ore‐growes my spirit;I cannot live to heare the newes from England,But I doe prophesie the election lightsOn Fortinbrasse; he has my dying voice,So tell him, with th'occurrents more and lesseWhichThe Tragedy of HamletWhich have solicited: the rest in silence.Hora.Now cracks a noble heart, good night sweet (Prince,And flight of Angels sing thee to thy rest.Why does the drum come hither?Enter Fortinbrasse, with the Embassadors.Fort.Where is this sight?Hor.What is it you would see?If ought of woe or wonder, cease your search?For.This quarry cryes on havock: O proud death,What feast is toward in thine infernall Cell,That thou so many Princes at a shotSo bloudily hast strooke?Embas.The sight is dismall,And our affaires from England come too late,The eares are senselesse that should gives us hearing.To tell him his commandement is fulfill'd,That Rosencraus and Guyldenstern are dead,Where should we have our thanks?Hor.Not from his mouth,Had it th'ability of life to thanke you;He never gave commandement for their death.But since so jumpe upon this bloody questionYou from the Pollack wars, and you from EnglandAre here arrived, give order that these bodiesHigh on a stage be placed to the view,And let me speake to'th yet unknowing worldHow these things came about; so shall you heareOf cruell, bloody, and unnaturall acts,Of accidentall judgements, casuall slaughters,Of deaths put on by cunning, and for no cause,And in this upshot, purposes mistooke,Falne on the inventors heads: all this can ITruely deliver.Fort.Let us haste to heare it,And call the noblest to the audience:For me, with sorrow I 'embrace my fortune,I have some rights of memory in this kingdome,Which now to claime my vantage doth invite me.Hora.Prince of Denmarke.Hora.Of that I shall have also cause to speak,And from his mouth whose voice will draw no more:But let this same be presently perform'd,Even while mens minds are wild, lest more mischanceOn plots and errors happen.Fort.Let foure CaptainesBeare Hamlet like a Souldier to the stage,For he was likely, had he been put on,T' have prov'd most royall: and for his passage,The Souldiers musick and the right of warreSpeake loudly for him.Take up the bodies; such a sight as thisBecomes the field, but here shewes much amisse.Goe bid the Souldiers shoot.Exeunt.FINIS.